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.