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Alexander Anderson

(1845-1909 / Scotland)

A Memory


As soft as an autumn leaf will light
When the winds are hush'd and still,
Fell your hand into mine that summer night,
When the moon rose above the hill.


And silent and pale through the holy skies
Rose she on her starry throne;
But I turn'd from her beams to your own sweet eyes,
That were looking up to my own—


Looking up to my own, dear love,
With their sweetest and tenderest glow,
As the angels may look from their home above
On their kindred types below.


And I saw in their depths, like some glorious balm,
All the wealth of their loving lore;
And the thoughts in my breast grew into calm,
That were restless an hour before;


And the earth had a brighter look for me,
For I saw with other eyes,
And a whisper rose up like some symphony
Spirit-sung in paradise.


And beneath that whisper we stood nor stirr'd,
The silence was so divine;
While our hearts, not our lips, spoke their own sweet word,
 And your eyes look'd up to mine.


O night! that now like a star is seen
In the past's ever golden sky,
Come back with the joy and the thrill that have been,
And that dear love-melody.


And it comes again with its magic tone,
And the stars come out to teach,
And your hand falls as light as a leaf in my own,
And our eyes look into each.


Then the thoughts that are restless in my breast
Grow as still as still may be;
And my heart feels the calm of thine own sweet rest,
And that dear love-melody.


So whenever my life will droop and pine,
And my thoughts rush to and fro,
Then I dream that your hand slips into mine
As it did in the long ago.

Submitted: Wednesday, April 09, 2014

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