Stedman and Hutchinson, comps. A Library of American Literature:
An Anthology in Eleven Volumes. 1891.
Vols. IX–XI: Literature of the Republic, Part IV., 1861–1889
The Old Piano
By Amelia Edith Huddleston Barr (1831–1919)H
What lingering shadows and what faint perfume
Of Eastern treasures!—sandal wood and scent
With nard and cassia and with roses blent.
Let in the sunshine.
Quaint cabinets are here, boxes and fans,
And hoarded letters full of hopes and plans.
I pass them by. I came once more to see
The old piano, dear to memory,
In past days mine.
Its is the saddest; see what tender tears
Drop on the yellow keys as, soft and slow,
I play some melody of long ago.
How strange it seems!
The thin, weak notes that once were rich and strong
Give only now the shadow of a song—
The dying echo of the fuller strain
That I shall never, never hear again,
Unless in dreams.
Since stiff and weary with life’s toil and fight;
Dear clinging hands that long have been at rest,
Folded serenely on a quiet breast.
Only to think,
O white, sad notes, of all the pleasant days,
The happy songs, the hymns of holy praise,
The dreams of love and youth, that round you cling!
Do they not make each sighing, trembling string
A mighty link?
The beautiful, the loved, where are they all?
Each told its secrets, touched its keys and wires
To thoughts of many colors and desires,
With whispering fingers.
All are silent now, the farewell said,
The last song sung, the last tear sadly shed;
Yet love has given it many dreams to keep
In this lone room, where only shadows creep
And silence lingers.
And from my fingers lets the lost notes fall.
O soul! that I have loved, with heavenly birth
Wilt thou not keep the memory of earth,
Its smiles and sighs?
Shall wood and metal and white ivory
Answer the touch of love with melody,
And thou forget? Dear one, not so.
I move thee yet (though how I may not know)
Beyond the skies.