REMEMBERED—L.K.

LONG years ago, in early June,
 When brooks and birds were in high tune,
I sat beneath an oak at noon,—

A grand old oak of grateful shade;
And at my side a dark-eyed maid
Who listened, and was not afraid.

Her eyes were moist with pearly tears;
She whispered that in later years
We would divide our hopes and fears.

For years, long years, it was my dream,
An idle ignis fatuus gleam
Of moonlight on a frozen stream.

I passed that way when years had fled,
I could not find the streamlet’s bed,
The oak was withered, sere and dead

Oft, as I brush my locks of gray,
I muse upon that summer day;
The shady oak, and streamlet’s play.