Poem – The Old Tune 


THIS shred of song you bid me bring

Is snatched from fancy’s embers;

Ah, when the lips forget to sing,

The faithful heart remembers!
Too swift the wings of envious Time

To wait for dallying phrases,

Or woven strands of labored rhyme

To thread their cunning mazes.
A word, a sigh, and lo, how plain

Its magic breath discloses

Our life’s long vista through a lane

Of threescore summers’ roses!
One language years alone can teach

Its roots are young affections

That feel their way to simplest speech

Through silent recollections.
That tongue is ours. How few the words

We need to know a brother!

As simple are the notes of birds,

Yet well they know each other.
This freezing month of ice and snow

That brings our lives together

Lends to our year a living glow

That warms its wintry weather.
So let us meet as eve draws nigh,

And life matures and mellows,

Till Nature whispers with a sigh,

‘Good-night, my dear old fellows!’ 

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