The Old Daguerreotypes

Up in the attic I found them, locked in the cedar chest, Where the flowered gowns lie folded, which once were brave as the best; And like the queer old jackets and the waistcoats gay with stripes, They tell of a worn-out fashion--these old daguerreotypes. Quaint little folding cases fastened with tiny hook, Seemingly made to tempt one to lift up the latch and look; Linings of purple velvet, odd little frames of gold, Circling the faded faces brought from the days of old.

Grandpa and grandma, taken ever so long ago, Grandma's bonnet a marvel, grandpa's collar a show, Mother, a tiny toddler, with rings on her baby hands Painted--lest none should notice--in glittering, gilded bands.

Aunts and uncles and cousins, a starchy and stiff array, Lovers and brides, then blooming,--now so wrinkled and gray: Out through the misty glasses they gaze at me, sitting here Opening the quaint old cases with a smile that is half a tear.

I will smile no more, little pictures, for heartless it was, in truth, To drag to the cruel daylight these ghosts of a vanished youth; Go back to your cedar chamber, your gowns and your lavender, And dream, 'mid their bygone graces, of the wonderful days that were.

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