POETRY.

Globe, Volume XXII, Issue 1955, 31 May 1880, Page 3

POETRY.

BESIDE THE BARS. Grandmother’s knitting has lost its charm ; Unheeded it lies in her ample lap, While the sunset’s crimson, soft and warm, Touches the frills of her snowy cap. She is gazing on two beside the bars, Under the maple,—who little care For the growing dusk, or the rising stars, Or the hint of frost in the autumn air. One is a slender slip of a girl, And one a man in the pride of youth; The maiden pure as the purest pearl. The lover strong in his steadfast truth. “ Sweet, my own, as a rose of June,” He says, full low, o’er the golden head. It would sound to her like a dear old tune. Could grandmother hear the soft words said. For it seems but a little while ago Since under the maple, beside the bars, She stood a girl, while the sunset’s glow Melted away 'mid the evening stars. And one, her lover, so bright and brave, Spake words as tender, in tones as low ; They come to her now from beyond the grave, The words of her darling, so long ago. “My own one, sweet as a rose of June !” Her eyes are dim, and her hair is white, But her heart keeps time to the old love-tuno As she watches her daughter’s child tonight. A world between them, perhaps you say, Yes. One has read the story through ; One has her beautiful yesterday, And one to-morrow fair to view. But little you dream how fond a prayer Goes up to God, through his silver stars, From the aged woman gazing there, For the two who linger beside the bars. —Margaret E. Sangsteb, In “Youth’s Companion.”