Arthur Davison Ficke

IT does not seem so many years ago—

Those nights when I lay shivering in my bed

And saw the candle-light round my aunt’s head

Casting its hazy sanctifying glow;

And heard her read strange story after story

Of Jonah, Adam, Moses, Esau, Ruth,

Of Solomon’s old age and David’s youth—

Things haunting, tender, terrible or gory.

Still can I see the Queen of Sheba’s hair;

And all real lions are but mockery

To him who once knew Daniel’s; there’s no tree

That can with Eve’s great Paradise Tree compare:

A golden light gleamed through that ancient air

That leaves me homesick in modernity.