“ The First Home.
“ About the casement of a room,1
In which a maid had slept2
From budding infancy to bloom,3
A honeysuckle crept.4
And every morning when the dew5
Lent odour to green lanes,6
The honeysuckle flowers looked through7
The maiden’s window-panes.8
How much of loveliness they saw9
When sammer morns were mild,10
It is not meet for man to know—11
I only know they smiled.12
They might have smiled at accents sweet,13
And sighs of tenderness,14
Such as the dreams of love may cheat15
A maiden to express.16
They might indeed have smiled to see17
The early sunbeams dance,18
As if they felt it joy to be19
On such a countenance.20
But when the maid her chamber left,21
Drest as became a bride,22
Of her sweet voice and looks bereft,23
The honeysuckle died.24
Upon the lonely window-sill25
The withering tendrils hung,26
And through the vacant room a chill27
Of desolation flung.28
The yellow bee that ever found29
Rich increase of his store30
’Midst flowers that wreathed this casement round,31
Came buzzing there no more—32
Nor nestling butterfly, whose wing33
Wore all the hues of June,34
That to its leaves had loved to cling35
Beneath the sultry noon—36
Nor aught with form imparting grace,37
Or music with its voice,38
About this love-forsaken place39
Did e’er again rejoice—40
Because the beauty which had moved :41
Upon the chamber floor,42
Delighting everything that loved,43
Returned to it no more.”44