MY PLAYMATE. THE pines were dark on Ramoth hill, The blossoms drifted at our feet, For, more to me than birds or flowers, My playmate left her home, And took with her the laughing spring, The music and the bloom. She kissed the lips of kith and kin, She left us in the bloom of May: I walk, with noiseless feet, the round Still o'er and o'er I sow the spring She lives where all the golden year The dusky children of the sun MY PLAYMATE. There haply with her jewelled hands The wild grapes wait us by the brook, And still the May-day flowers make sweet The lilies blossom in the pond, The bird builds in the tree, I wonder if she thinks of them, I see her face, I hear her voice: What cares she that the orioles build That other hands with nuts are filled, O playmate in the golden time! The winds so sweet with birch and fern A sweeter memory blow; And there in spring the veeries sing The song of long ago. 341 And still the pines of Ramoth wood |