To Mr. and Mrs. A. M. T.

Just when the gentle hand of spring      Came fringing the trees with bud and leaf,     And when the blades the warm suns bring      Were given glad promise of golden sheaf;     Just when the birds began to sing      Joy hymns after their winter's grief,     I wandered weary to a place;      Tired of toil, I sought for rest,     Where Nature wore her mildest grace --      I went where I was more than guest.     Strange, tall trees rose as if they fain      Would wear as crowns the clouds of skies;     The sad winds swept with low refrain      Through branches breathing softest sighs;     And o'er the field and down the lane      Sweet flowers, the dreams of Paradise,     Bloomed up into this world of pain,      Where all that's fairest soonest dies;     And 'neath the trees a little stream      Went winding slowly round and round,     Just like a poet's mystic dream,      With here a silence, there a sound.     The lowly ground, beneath the sheen      Of March day suns, now dim, now bright,     Now emeralds of golden green      In flashing or in fading light;     And here and there throughout the scene      The timid wild flowers met the sight,     While over all the sun and shade      Swept like a strangely woven veil,     Folding the flowers that else might fade,      Guarding young rosebuds from the gale.     And blossoms of most varied hue      Bedecked the forest everywhere,     While valleys wore the robes of blue,      Bright woven by the violets fair;     And there was gladness all around;      It was a place so fair to see,     And yet so simple -- there I found      How sweet a quiet home may be.     Four children -- and thro' all the day      They flung their laughter o'er the place;     Bright as the flowers in happy May,      The children shed a sweet pure grace     Around this quiet home, and they      To father and to mother brought     The smiles of purest love unsought;      It was a happy, happy spot,     Too dear to be fore'er forgot.      Farewell, sweet place! I came as guest;     From toil, in thee I found relief,      I found in thee a home and rest --     But, ah! the days are far too brief.      Farewell! I go, but with me come     Sweet memories that long will last;      I'll think of thee as of a home     That stands forever in my past.