A poem for the day.
A tale begun in other days,
When summer suns were glowing –-
A simple chime, that served to time
The rhythm of our rowing –-
Whose echoes live in memory yet,
Though envious years would say ‘forget’.
Come, hearken then, ere voice of dread,
With bitter tidings laden,
Shall summon to unwelcome bed
A melancholy maiden!
We are but older children, dear,
Who fret to find our bedtime near.
Without, the frost, the blinding snow,
The storm-wi
