  (To M. E. W.) I dream to-night of happy childhood days; I see two humble homes and thrill with joy; The years come back when I was but a boy, And you had ringlets for the gods to praise: The old Old Swing, the fields of golden maize; The moving pictures in the clouds above; The mating birds, their nests, their songs of love— All this, dear Lord, through years of mist and haze! And then I turn and look beyond the Shade, And those who wrought for us are waiting there: Our mothers with their crowns of silver hair, And radiant smiles of love that will not fade; Our fathers with the keys to all the creeds Are there still strong in faith and pure in deeds. |
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