A Summer Memory

Here, where these low lush meadows lie,
We wandered in the summer weather,
When earth and air and arching sky,
Blazed grandly, goldenly together.

And oft, in that same summertime,
We sought and roamed these self-same meadows,
When evening brought the curfew chime,
And peopled field and fold with shadows.

I mind me of our last fond tryst:
The night was such a night as this:
And standing here, breast-high in mist,
We sealed our parting vows with kisses.

Ah, trust misplaced! ah, last false kiss!
She with another mate tomorrow;
And now my uttermost of bliss
Is made my uttermost sorrow.

I wrestle sore in bitter strife,
For night draws round me dull and darkling,
And in my darkened sky of life
No single star of hope is sparkling

Anonymous – Published in Harper’s Weekly Oct. 4, 1873

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Religion is regarded by the common people as true, by the wise as false, and by the rulers as useful.

— Seneca the Younger