  Down through the woods, along the way That fords the stream; by rock and tree, Where in the bramble-bell the bee Swings; and through twilights green and gray The red-bird flashes suddenly, My thoughts went wandering to-day. I found the fields where, row on row, The blackberries hang black with fruit; Where, nesting at the elder's root, The partridge whistles soft and low; The fields, that billow to the foot Of those old hills we used to know. There lay the pond, still willow-bound, On whose bright surface, when the hot Noon burnt above, we chased the knot Of water-spiders; while around Our heads, like bits of rainbow, shot The dragonflies without a sound. The pond, above which evening bent To gaze upon her rosy face; Wherein the twinkling night would place A vague, inverted firmament, And firefly sparkles came and went. The oldtime woods we often ranged, When we were playmates, you and I; The oldtime fields, with boyhood's sky Still blue above them!—Naught was changed! Nothing!—Alas, then tell me why Should we be? whom long years estranged. |
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