BENEATH THE CHESTNUT TREE

Long years ago in childhood's hour.

Beneath an old Beech Tree,

A sweeter and a daintier flower

Than ever graced a lea,

Unfolded all its beauteous bloom

And shed its rich and rare perfume

Alone, alone for me.

The dewdrop sparkling on the rose

Is fresh and fair to see;

I love the lily when it blows

And rocks the cradled bee;

But fairer than the diamond dew

Or lily, was the flower that grew

Beneath the old Beech Tree.

Rose-petaled with a golden fringe,

And calyx to agree;

A dash of sea-foam and a tinge

Of sky in harmony;

The subtile perfume sunny smiles,

And sunnier love, though but a child's,

Beneath an old Beech Tree.

One morn I sought the cooling shade

With heart as light and free

As snowy whitecap ever played

Upon the bounding sea;

But she, the fairy child, was gone,—

The flower that grew for me alone —

Beneath the old Beech Tree.

The brooks still ran the hills among

And babbled on in glee;

The birds still mated, loved and sung

In tuneful melody:

But all the soul of song was lost;

My flower had withered with the frost

Beneath the old Beech Tree.

The years ran on in golden sands

For lovers rapidly;

The flowers waved their magic wands

And smiled still joyously:

But love's enchanting power was gone

For me whom Death had left alone

Beneath the old Beech Tree.

The moonlight sifting through the leaves

Fell soft and silvery,

As threads that sly Arachne weaves

With artful modesty;

It fell and wove a mystic veil

About her face; my cheek grew pale

Beneath the Chestnut Tree.

A breathless moment, all was still;

A deep solemnity

Hung over earth,— and then a thrill

Of love and mystery —

An odor of a rare perfume,

The sweetest flower that e'er did bloom

Beneath the Chestnut Tree!

The brooks now run the hills among

And babble on in glee;

For love brought back the soul of song

Beneath the Chestnut Tree;—

Brought back, while moonlit breezes blew

The sweetest flower that ever grew,

Alone, alone for me.