MEMORIES

I am thinking of the Springtime

On the farm out in the West,

When my world held nothing for me that I wanted,

( Save a courage all undaunted ),

And my foolish little rhymes,

Were but heart beats, rung in chimes,

That I sounded, just to ease my life's unrest.

Yes, I sang them, and I rang them,

Just to ease my youth's unrest.

When I heard the name of London,

In that early day, afar,

In that Springtime of my Country over yonder,

Then I used to sit and wonder

If the day would come to me,

When my ship should cross the sea,

To the land that seemed as distant as a star.

In my dreaming, ever gleaming

Like a distant unknown star.

Now in London in the Springtime,

I am sitting here, your guest.

Nay — I think it is a vision, or a fancy -

Part of dreamland Necromancy;

And I question: is it true

That the great warm hearts of you,

Heard the winging of that singing in the West,

Heard the chiming of my rhyming

From the farmhouse in the West?

Let me linger in the fancy,

For the soul of me is stirred

As I dream that I am sitting here among you;

And the songs that I have sung you

Shall grow stronger through the art

Of heart speaking unto heart,

Through the gladness of the singer who is heard

Lo! my songs have crossed the ocean

But the voice of my emotion finds no word.