Arthur Quiller-Couch, comp. The Oxford Book of Victorian Verse. 1922.
MemoriesJohn Greenleaf Whittier (1807–1892)
A
With step as light as summer air,
Eyes glad with smiles, and brow of pearl,
Shadow’d by many a careless curl
Of unconfined and flowing hair;
A seeming child in everything,
Save thoughtful brow and ripening charms,
As Nature wears the smile of Spring
When sinking into Summer’s arms.
Which melted through its graceful bower,
Leaf after leaf, dew-moist and bright,
And stainless in its holy white,
Unfolding like a morning flower:
A heart, which, like a fine-toned lute,
With every breath of feeling woke,
And, even when the tongue was mute,
From eye and lip in music spoke.
Of memory, at the thought of thee!
Old hopes which long in dust have lain
Old dreams, come thronging back again,
And boyhood lives again in me;
I feel its glow upon my cheek,
Its fulness of the heart is mine,
As when I lean’d to hear thee speak,
Or raised my doubtful eye to thine.
I feel thy arm within my own,
And timidly again uprise
The fringèd lids of hazel eyes,
With soft brown tresses overblown.
Ah! memories of sweet summer eves,
Of moonlit wave and willowy way,
Of stars and flowers, and dewy leaves,
And smiles and tones more dear than they!
My picture of thy youth to see,
When, half a woman, half a child,
Thy very artlessness beguiled,
And folly’s self seem’d wise in thee;
I too can smile, when o’er that hour
The lights of memory backward stream,
Yet feel the while that manhood’s power
Is vainer than my boyhood’s dream.
Of graver care and deeper thought;
And unto me the calm, cold face
Of manhood, and to thee the grace
Of woman’s pensive beauty brought.
More wide, perchance, for blame than praise,
The school-boy’s humble name has flown;
Thine, in the green and quiet ways
Of unobtrusive goodness known.
Diverge our pathways, one in youth;
Thine the Genevan’s sternest creed,
While answers to my spirit’s need
The Derby dalesman’s simple truth.
For thee, the priestly rite and prayer,
And holy day, and solemn psalm;
For me, the silent reverence where
My brethren gather, slow and calm.
An impress Time has worn not out,
And something of myself in thee,
A shadow from the past, I see,
Ling’ring, even yet, thy way about;
Not wholly can the heart unlearn
That lesson of its better hours,
Not yet has Time’s dull footstep worn
To common dust that path of flowers.
The shadows melt, and fall apart,
And, smiling through them, round us lies
The warm light of our morning skies,—
The Indian Summer of the heart!
In secret sympathies of mind,
In founts of feeling which retain
Their pure, fresh flow, we yet may find
Our early dreams not wholly vain!