AN EMPTY NEST

I find an old deserted nest,

Half-hidden in the underbrush:

A withered leaf, in phantom jest,

Has nestled in it like a thrush

With weary, palpitating breast.

I muse as one in sad surprise

Who seeks his childhood's home once more,

And finds it in a strange disguise

Of vacant rooms and naked floor,

With sudden tear-drops in his eyes.

An empty nest! It used to bear

A happy burden, when the breeze

Of summer rocked it, and a pair

Of merry tattlers told the trees

What treasures they had hidden there.

But Fancy, flitting through the gleams

Of youth's sunshiny atmosphere,

Has fallen in the past, and seems,

Like this poor leaflet nestled here,—

A phantom guest of empty dreams.