Retrospect

At evening, when the breeze dies down, And regal Nature doffs her crown, When brown-limbed pines, like minarets, Fringe all the hills, and tired day frets To rest awhile--ah, then, I know, Into a shadowed room you go, And softly touch the organ keys; While pale stars blink amid the trees You sing a peaceful vesper hymn That rises from your full heart’s brim; Your kindly eyes are dimmed with tears-- You wander through remembered years; From gay to grave your fancies fly, And end the journey with the cry: My heart played truant from my will! I loved him then--I love him still.