Daily globe. [volume] (St. Paul, Minn.) 1878-1884, 1879-01-19
Charley.

COmDaDiCn.
In May, sunlit garden,
where was neither watch nor warden.
But the butterflies and bees
Rifing the laburnum trees;
Where lilies pale and purple phlox
Bent above the bordering box,
AND clustering pinks and crimson roses
Made fragrant even the orchard closes-
There one blissful hour straved
With the boy they said was laid
fofeVcr meath the trees shade
Charley, with his summers seven!-
Inc hall clock was striking eleven
AS saw him down the stairs,
With his blue eyes and chestnut hair
backward from his forehead blown
~ the wind, that made such moan
When we lost him. 'Twas day
In dreary March he went away,
But that now, in glad surprise,
Breathed strain Of paradise
How | clasped him to my heart!
Darling, naught again shall part
You and me, you and me!'
Ihrlce he kissed me; then in glee
Down the winding path he sped.
(So he was wont of old to play)
could see his shining head
Bright the darkling boughs between,
AS II a sunbeam glanced that way;
While followed where he led
By grove and walk, his dancing feet:
And as be ran, now iajry-feet,
Now from some gloom emerging slow.
Still reckoning, still GLIDING me,
ellis cheek Outvled the roses, glow,
His voice, the robins minstrelsy.
BY the feathery ferns found him;
Fondled in my arms [ wound him
. the rapture, 0 the rest,
Thus to fold him to my breast,
Look in his eyes, put back his hair
| had no further wish, nor care
For what had been, or might befall;
The moments bliss was all in ALL
Silent he sat little space;
The while fancied l could trace
loftier beauty on his brow,
finer meaning in his smile.
thrush trilled from the lilac Dough.
Aud then, in tones that might beguile
The saddest heart, so sweat they fell.
lie whispered, DO the rosies grow
Red as they did last year? I know
The lilies seem not half so white
Since have plucked them, all of light,
Leaning over the crystal streams,
In the fair garden where Idwell,
~ Or stately fall by. the golden CLEANS
OF the beds of waving asphodel
IT'S true that here, when morning beam
The orchard robins MARBLE we'll,
But, oh! there's a bird that sings to me
All day long in that garden fair,
Sings till my heart is so glad and free
That long to steal through the balmy {
And bring you straight to thatsjoyous land.
Hush! murmur OF wings is near!
Hank! tits his silvery note I hear!"
And qeicHly from nv clasping hand
He sprang, that wondrous bird to see,
and vanished, as the sunlight goes
When black cloud, relentless, throws
Its shadow over lawn and tree!
Ana calling, flying where he fed,
passed the lilies dropping dead,
AND, breathless, gained the vacant stair.
The sun shone wan as winter moon:
chill wind blew the rose tree bare,
strewing its blossoms DER the stone:
And he was gone, and alone,s
AS sharp the clock rang out for noon!
All, well! days went to weeks, to years,
But never watch or prayers or tears
Brought my darling back to me
BY garden bower or sunny lea!
And yet it was no dream of mine,
For soft felt his arms entwine
About my neck, and close and warm
Held his breathing, beauteous form;
Heard his laugh, his footsteps fall;
Followed swift his gleeful call.
No, it was no dream of mine,
But a Joy I cannot divine
Charley with his summers seven,
Stole that hour away from heaven!