In the twilight, in the gloaming,1
Of November’s. thirteenth day,2
Lies my open desk before me ;3
What I muse on, who shall say ?4
Here are stored my choicest treasures—5
Stored for many a weary year !6
Desk ! old silent friend, I love thee,7
Witness mute of many a tear !8
Only a blue knot of ribbon,9
Dropped from a fair woman’s hair !10
Only a poor withered flower,11
Faded lie, enshrinèd there !12
Only one lock, long and golden,13
Cut from off a sunny head !14
Only letters, sere and yellow,15
Traced by fingers white and dead !16
Well ! —I close thee. God be praisèd !17
Bitter memories last not aye !18
Time, to tenderness oft mellows19
Saddest thoughts of days gone by !20