Where roses blow in fragrant June,
And summer breezes hover,
The waves flow with a silver tune,
Through the banks of blushing clover;
And liles white, like wreaths of light,
In shade and sheen bend over.
From out of the mopy forest old,
Where every sunbeam lodges,
And weaves a tinge of yellow gold,
O'er all the leafy edges,
Through dewy ways, Their fragrances strays
Adown the purple hedges.
We see them in their spotless snow,
Beside our pathways clinging,
And backward through the "long ago,"
Their waxen bells are swinging;
Where oft we strayed, each breezy glade,
A garland white is flinging.
Where weary crowds in sorrow pass,
And summer winds winds are roaming,
They sparkle in the churchyard grass,
Beneath the willows blooming,
And shine o'er years of bitter tears,
Like stars along the gloaming.
Perchance within the fragrance there,
Sometimes we fall a-dreaming,
And catch a glimps of golden hair,
With bridal chaplets gleaming,
A dimpled face, in clouds of lace,
Through rosey vistas beaming.
Or see, perhaps, a shining band,
While through our dream is ringing
Sweet music from the Eden land,
The voices of angels singing,
Where the lilies white, from jasper height,
"Across the tide" are swinging!
- Mary F. Hunt