A Memory

HOW dear to this heart are the old-fashioned dresses,

When fond recollection presents them to view!

In fancy I see the old wardrobes and presses

Which held the loved gowns that in girlhood I knew.

The wide-spreading mohair, the silk that hung by it;

The straw-colored satin with trimmings of brown;

The ruffled foulard, the pink organdy nigh it.

But, oh! for the pocket that hung in each gown!

The old-fashioned pocket,

The obsolete pocket,

The praiseworthy pocket that hung in each gown.

That dear, roomy pocket I’d hail as a treasure,

Could I but behold it in gowns of to-day;

I’d find it the source of an exquisite pleasure,

But all my modistes sternly answer me “Nay.”

’Twould be so convenient when going out shopping,

’Twould hold my small purchases coming from town;

And always my purse or my kerchief I’m dropping.

Oh, me! for the pocket that hung in my gown.

The old-fashioned pocket,

The obsolete pocket,

The praiseworthy pocket that hung in my gown.

A gown with a pocket! How fondly I’d guard it!

Each day ere I’d don it I’d brush it with care;

Not a full Paris costume could make me discard it,

Though trimmed with the laces an empress might wear.

But I have no hope, for the fashion is banished;

The tear of regret will my fond visions drown;

As fancy reverts to the days that have vanished,

I sigh for the pocket that hung in my gown.

The old-fashioned pocket,

The obsolete pocket,

The praiseworthy pocket that hung in my gown.