An Old Sweetheart of Mine

        The ordered intermingling
            of the real and the dream,--
        The mill above the river,
            and the mist above the stream;
        The life of ceaseless labor,
            brave with song and cheery call--
        The radiant skies of evening,
            with its rainbow o'er us all.


        AN OLD SWEETHEART OF MINE!--Is this
            her presence here with me,
        Or but a vain creation of
            a lover's memory?

        A fair, illusive vision
            that would vanish into air
        Dared I even touch the silence
            with the whisper of a prayer?

        Nay, let me then believe in all
            the blended false and true--
        The semblance of the old love
            and the substance of the new,--

        The then of changeless sunny days--
            the now of shower and shine--
        But Love forever smiling,--
            as that old sweetheart of mine.

        This ever-restful sense of home,
            though shouts ring in the hall.--
        The easy-chair--the old bookshelves
            and prints along the wall;

        The rare Habanas in their box,
            or gaunt churchwarden-stem
        That often wags, above the jar,
            derisively at them.

        As one who cons at evening
            o'er an album, all alone,
        And muses on the faces
            of the friends that he has known,

        So I turn the leaves of Fancy,
            till, in shadowy design,
        I find the smiling features of
            an old sweetheart of mine.

        The lamplight seems to glimmer
            with a flicker of surprise,
        As I turn it low--to rest me
            of the dazzle in my eyes,

        And light my pipe in silence,
            save a sigh that seems to yoke
        Its fate with my tobacco
            and to vanish with the smoke.

        'Tis a fragrant retrospection,--
            for the loving thoughts that start
        Into being are like perfume
            from the blossom of the heart;

        And to dream the old dreams over
            is a luxury divine--
        When my truant fancies wander
            with that old sweetheart of mine.

        Though I hear beneath my study,
            like a fluttering of wings,
        The voices of my children
            and the mother as she sings--

        I feel no twinge of conscience
            to deny me any theme
        When Care has cast her anchor
            In the harbor of a dream--

        In fact, to speak in earnest,
            I believe it adds a charm
        To spice the good a trifle
            with a little dust of harm,--

        For I find an extra flavor
            in Memory's mellow wine
        That makes me drink the deeper
            to that old sweetheart of mine.

        O Childhood-days enchanted!
            O the magic of the Spring!--
        With all green boughs to blossom white,
            and all bluebirds to sing!

        When all the air, to toss and quaff,
            made life a jubilee
        And changed the children's song and
            laugh to shrieks of ecstasy.

        With eyes half closed in clouds that ooze
            from lips that taste, as well,
        The peppermint and cinnamon,
            I hear the old School-bell,

        And from "Recess" romp in again
            from "Blackman's" broken line,
        To--smile, behind my "lesson",
            at that old sweetheart of mine.

        A face of lily-beauty,
            with a form of airy grace,
        Floats out of my tobacco
            as the "Genii" from the vase

        And I thrill beneath the glances
            of a pair of azure eyes
        As glowing as the summer
            and as tender as the skies.

        I can see the pink sunbonnet
            and the little, checkered dress
        She wore when first I kissed her
            and she answered the caress

        With the written declaration that,
            "As surely as the vine
        Grew 'round the stump," she loved me--
            that old sweetheart of mine.

        Again I make her presents,
            in a really helpless way,--
        The big "Rhode Island Greening"--
            (I was hungry too, that day!)--

        But I follow her from Spelling,
            with her hand behind her--so--
        And I slip the apple in it--
            and the Teacher doesn't know!

        I give my treasures to her--all,--
            my pencil--blue-and-red;--
        And, if little girls played marbles,
            mine should all be hers, instead!--

        But she gave me her photograph,
            and printed "Ever Thine"
        Across the back--in blue-and-red--
            that old sweetheart of mine!

        And again I feel the pressure
            of her slender little hand,
        As we used to talk together
            of the future we had planned,--

        When I should be a poet,
            and with nothing else to do
        But write the tender verses
            that she set the music to....

        When we should live together
            in a cozy little cot
        Hid in a nest of roses,
            with a fairy garden-spot,

        Where the vines were ever fruited
            and the weather ever fine,
        And the birds were ever singing
            for that old sweetheart of mine....

        When I should be her lover
            forever and a day,
        And she my faithful sweetheart
            till the golden hair was gray;

        And we should be so happy
            that when either's lips were dumb
        They would not smile in Heaven
            till the other's kiss had come.

        But, ah! my dream is broken
            by a step upon the stair,
        And the door is softly opened,
            and--my wife is standing there:

        Yet with eagerness and rapture
            all my visions I resign,--
        To greet the living presence
            of that old sweetheart of mine.