Classic Poem

When at eve I sit alone,
Thinking on the Past and Gone —
While the clock, with drowsy finger,
Marks how long the minutes linger —
And the embers, dimly burning,
Tell of Life to Dust returning —
Then my lonely chair around,
With a quiet, mournful sound,
With a murmur soft and low,
Come the Ghosts of Long Ago.

One by one, I count them o'er,
Voices, that are heard no more,
Tears, that loving cheeks have wet,
Words, whose music lingers yet —
Holy faces, pale and fair,
Shadowy locks of waving hair —
Happy sighs and whispers dear,
Songs forgotten many a year, —
Lips of dewy fragrance — eyes
Brighter, bluer than the skies —
Odors breathed from Paradise.

And the gentle shadows glide
Softly murmuring at my side,
Till the long unfriended day,
All forgotten, fades away.

Thus, when I am all alone,
Dreaming o'er the Past and Gone,
All around me, sad and slow,
Come the Ghosts of Long Ago