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Lydia Is Gone This Many A Year
(January 9, 1856 – December 17, 1935 / Waverly)

Lydia Is Gone This Many A Year

Poem By Lizette Woodworth Reese

Lydia is gone this many a year,
Yet when the lilacs stir,
In the old gardens far or near,
The house is full of her.

They climb the twisted chamber stair;
Her picture haunts the room;
On the carved shelf beneath it there,
They heap the purple bloom.

A ghost so long has Lydia been,
Her cloak upon the wall,
Broidered, and gilt, and faded green,
Seems not her cloak at all.

The book, the box on mantel laid,
The shells in a pale row,
Are those of some dim little maid,
A thousand years ago.

And yet the house is full of her;
She goes and comes again;
And longings thrill, and memories stir,
Like lilacs in the rain.

Out in their yards the neighbors walk,
Among the blossoms tall;
Of Anne, of Phyllis, do they talk,
Of Lydia not at all.

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Comments (1)

Now I am very intrigued by this Lydia! Love the mysteriousness of this piece! Thought Lydia was the towns golden girl but with the last line of this poem now I'm not so sure! Why does no one want to discuss this Lydia? Ooo, , I love a good puzzling mystery!


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