Mnemosyne

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   It 's autumn in the country I remember. 
   How warm a wind blew here about the ways! 
   And shadows on the hillside lay to slumber
   During the long sun-sweetened summer-days. 
   It's cold abroad the country I remember. 
   The swallows veering skimmed the golden grain
   At midday with a wing aslant and limber; 
   And yellow cattle browsed upon the plain. 
   It 's empty down the country I remember. 

  I had a sister lovely in my sight: 
  Her hair was dark, her eyes were very sombre; 
  We sang together in the woods at night. 

  It 's lonely in the country I remember. 

  The babble of our children fills my ears, 
  And on our hearth I stare the perished ember
  To flames that show all starry thro' my tears. 

  It 's dark about the country I remember.

  There are the mountains where I lived. The path
  Is slushed with cattle-tracks and fallen timber, 
  The stumps are twisted by the tempests' wrath.

  But that I knew these places are my own, 
  I 'd ask how came such wretchedness to cumber
  The earth, and I to people it alone.

  It rains across the country I remember.

© Trumbull Stickney