The windows were wide all day; The musks and the
pinks smell sweet In the boxes over the way. The night is a night of June, When the summer flowers are born, And, above, a sickle moon Hangs over the coming corn.
No sigh of the past is there, And the silence spellful feels; When out on the dreamy air The Old-Maid's music steals.
It seems like a story told
That must fill the eyes with tears,—
So sweet, so wistful, so old, That ditty of fifty years !
Even as I listen and hear, Those years roll back between, And the long ago draws near, Till I look on what has been.
And a sound of footsteps rings, And the shadows move below,— While she lifts her voioe and sings That ditty of long ago.
And I see two figures pace Together, with lingering feet; And now 'tis a girl's white face That looks down the empty street.
And I see her lean and gaze,
And the crowd is black below,—
But the Old-Maid sits and plays That ditty of long ago !
'Tis light in the narrow street, To-day is the longest day ; The musks and the pinks smell sweet In the boxes over the way.
GEORGE HOLMES:.
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