A Reverie.

Poem By Alfred Castner King

O, tomb of the past
Where buried hopes lie,
In my visions I see
Thy phantoms pass by!
A form, long departed,
Before me appears;
A sweet voice, long silent,
Again greets my ears.

Fond memory dwells
On the things that have been;
And my eyes calmly gaze
On a long vanished scene;
A scene such as memory
Stores deep in the breast,
Which only appears
In a season of rest.

Once more we wander,
Her fair hand in mine;
Once more her promise,
'I'll ever be thine';
Once more the parting,
The shroud, and the pall,
The sods' hollow thump
As they coffinward fall.

The reverie ends-
All the fancies have flown;
And my sad, lonely heart,
Now seems doubly alone;
As the Ivy, whose tendrils
Reach longingly out,
Yet finds not an oak
To entwine them about.

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At the sound of the whistle so shrill and clear,
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