Poems (Chitwood)/A Memory

For works with similar titles, see A Memory.

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A MEMORY.
Like a bird to southern clime,
 Memory loves to go
To a sweet Autumnal time
 Many years ago.
Winds were chanting mournful rhyme
 Musical and low,
In that sweet Autumnal time,
 Many years ago!

Not the frost-work, like a crown
 Resting on the bowers;
Not the ripe fruit dropping down
 All the luscious hours;
 ​Not the leaflets red and brown
 Ticking on the bowers,
Gave the world its beauty crown
 Those Autumnal hours.

When the west wind's mournful moan
 Floated o'er the hill,
One was with me, whose dear tone
 Made my heart-strings thrill.
Oft, and oft when all alone,
 Comes that lost voice still;
Oft and oft that dreaming tone
 Males my heart-strings thrill.

Ah! that early love was told
 Many years ago;
Those sweet lips are white and cold
 As the winter's snow:
And my heart for aye must hold
 Many waves of woe,
For the lips as white and cold
 As the deep, deep snow!

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