Beside the manse the river flows
This sweet and tender summer day,
While soft winds wanton round the rose,
Or dally with the leaves and play.
There is so much of life to meet
The compass of the dreaming eye;
So much of what is fair and sweet
To linger for a moment by.
I sit upon the old stone seat,
I watch the valley far below
Through which, as if on silver feet,
The rippling wavelets dance and flow.
I know the woods, I know the fields,
And, as the brooding eye is cast
Upon them, each in silence yields
A something from the fading past.
A sense of youth when hope was high,
And life was sweet as sweet could be,
When overhead the smiling sky
Was blue and very fair to see.
I turn away: I slowly walk
The garden path; the scent of flowers
That hang upon the dewy stalk
Sheds sweetness through the summer hours.
The slightest stir is in the air;
Like nuns with hands upon their breast
Each blossom hangs, and everywhere
There is the perfect sleep of rest.
I pace the garden walk—I hear
A well-known whisper as I go;
It lingers gently in my ear,
Although the sound is faint and low.
I know the voice, and as I stand
I question half in doubt and fear—
'Now, where should be the kindly hand
When voice and footsteps are so near?'
No answer. Could there only be
One single touch, as friends may give
Each unto each, with 'Lo! you see,
I touch thee knowing that I live.'
I know what spirit walks with me
This tender, silent summer day,
Though from one blossom that I see
A single petal drops away.