Читать книгу Poems - Julia C. R. Dorr - Страница 23

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Wandering in the dewy twilight Of a golden summer day, When the mists upon the mountains Flushed with purple splendor lay: When the sunlight kissed the hilltops And the vales were hushed and dim, And from out the forest arches Rose a holy vesper hymn— I lost something. Have you seen it, Children, ye who passed that way? Did you chance to find the treasure That I lost that summer day?

It was neither gold nor silver, Orient pearl nor jewel rare; Neither amethyst nor ruby, Nor an opal gleaming fair; ’Twas no curious, quaint mosaic Wrought by cunning master-hands, Nor a cameo where Hebe, Crowned with deathless beauty, stands. Yet have I lost something precious; Children, ye who passed that way— Tell me, have you found the treasure That I lost one summer day?

Then, you say, it was a casket Filled with India’s perfumes rare, Or a tiny flask of crystal Meet the rose’s breath to bear; Or a bird of wondrous plumage, With a voice of sweetest tone, That, escaping from my bosom, To the greenwood deep has flown. Ah! not these, I answer vainly; Children, ye who passed that way, Ye can never find the treasure That I lost that summer day!

You may call it bird or blossom; Name my treasure what you will; Here no more its song or fragrance Shall my soul with rapture fill. But, thank God! our earthly losses In no darksome void are cast; Safely garnered, some to-morrow Shall restore them all at last. Somewhere in the great hereafter, Children, ye who pass this way, I shall find again the treasure That I lost one summer day!