Classic Poem

Far back among the misty years,
I heard the sweet old song;
I was a careless, happy child,
Scarce knowing right from wrong;
But O the tender, mournful words,
That through the twilight rang;
And O the lady, fair and tall,
Who sat alone and sang!

She charmed me with her lovely voice;
Her hair was backward blown;
She sat upon a doorstep low,
And it was near our own;
But there were whisperings in the air,
She was not " wise " or " good. "
No little child might speak to her
In that fair neighborhood!

How strange it was! I looked at her,
I could not understand;
I felt so far apart from her,
Yet longed to take her hand.
I would have asked about the song:
Where was the " Castle Hall " ?
And what the " Holly Branch, " that shone
Against the " old, oak wall " ?

Where is she now, that lady fair,
In whom no child might trust?
I think her very grave, to-day,
Is leveled in the dust.
I wish that I had gone to her,
Not knowing right or wrong,
And laid my hands on hers, and said,
" I thank you for the song. "

Far back among the misty years,
I heard the sweet old song;
I was a careless, happy child,
Scarce knowing right from wrong;
But O the tender, mournful words,
That through the twilight rang;
And O the lady, fair and tall,
Who sat alone and sang!

She charmed me with her lovely voice;
Her hair was backward blown;
She sat upon a doorstep low,
And it was near our own;
But there were whisperings in the air,
She was not " wise " or " good. "
No little child might speak to her
In that fair neighborhood!

How strange it was! I looked at her,
I could not understand;
I felt so far apart from her,
Yet longed to take her hand.
I would have asked about the song:
Where was the " Castle Hall " ?
And what the " Holly Branch, " that shone
Against the " old, oak wall " ?

Where is she now, that lady fair,
In whom no child might trust?
I think her very grave, to-day,
Is leveled in the dust.
I wish that I had gone to her,
Not knowing right or wrong,
And laid my hands on hers, and said,
" I thank you for the song. "