Classic Poem

Here , in my snug little fire-lit chamber,
— — — Sit I alone:
And, as I gaze in the coals, I remember
— — — Days long agone.
Saddening it is when the night has descended,
— — — Thus to sit here,
Pensively musing on episodes ended
— — — Many a year.

Still in my visions a golden-haired glory
— — — Flits to and fro;
She whom I loved — but 'tis just the old story:
— — — Dead, long ago.
'Tis but a wraith of love; yet I linger
— — — (Thus passion errs),
Foolishly kissing the ring on my finger —
— — — Once it was hers.

Nothing has changed since her spirit departed,
— — — Here, in this room
Save I, who, weary, and half broken-hearted,
— — — Sit in the gloom.
Loud 'gainst the window the winter rain dashes
— — — Dreary and cold;
Over the floor the red fire-light flashes
— — — Just as of old.

Just as of old — but the embers are scattered,
— — — Whose ruddy blaze
Flashed o'er the floor where the fairy feet pattered
— — — In other days!
Then, her dear voice, like a silver chime ringing,
— — — Melted away;
Often these walls have re-echoed her singing,
— — — Now hushed for aye!

Why should love bring naught but sorrow, I wonder?
— — — Everything dies!
Time and death, sooner or later, must sunder
— — — Holiest ties.
Years have rolled by; I am wiser and older —
— — — Wiser, but yet
Not till my heart and its feelings grow colder,
— — — Can I forget.

So, in my snug little fire-lit chamber,
— — — Sit I alone;
And, as I gaze in the coals, I remember
— — — Days long agone!