| |
| AMONG the beautiful pictures | |
| That hang on Memory’s wall | |
| Is one of a dim old forest, | |
| That seemeth best of all; | |
| Not for its gnarled oaks olden, | 5 |
| Dark with the mistletoe; | |
| Not for the violets golden | |
| That sprinkle the vale below; | |
| Not for the milk-white lilies | |
| That lean from the fragrant ledge, | 10 |
| Coquetting all day with the sunbeams, | |
| And stealing their golden edge; | |
| Not for the vines on the upland, | |
| Where the bright red berries rest, | |
| Nor the pinks, nor the pale sweet cowslip, | 15 |
| It seemeth to me the best. | |
| |
| I once had a little brother, | |
| With eyes that were dark and deep; | |
| In the lap of that old dim forest | |
| He lieth in peace asleep: | 20 |
| Light as the down of the thistle, | |
| Free as the winds that blow, | |
| We roved there the beautiful summers, | |
| The summers of long ago; | |
| But his feet on the hills grew weary, | 25 |
| And, one of the autumn eves, | |
| I made for my little brother | |
| A bed of the yellow leaves. | |
| Sweetly his pale arms folded | |
| My neck in a meek embrace, | 30 |
| As the light of immortal beauty | |
| Silently covered his face; | |
| And when the arrows of sunset | |
| Lodged in the tree-tops bright, | |
| He fell, in his saint-like beauty, | 35 |
| Asleep by the gates of light. | |
| Therefore, of all the pictures | |
| That hang on Memory’s wall, | |
| The one of the dim old forest | |
| Seemeth the best of all. | 40 |
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