C.D. Warner, et al., comp.
The Library of the World’s Best Literature. An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.

Louise Chandler Moulton (1835–1908)

COME back, dear days, from out the past!—

I see your gentle ghosts arise;

You look at me with mournful eyes,

And then the night grows vague and vast:

You have gone back to Paradise.

Why did you fleet away, dear days?

You were so welcome when you came!

The morning skies were all aflame;

The birds sang matins in your praise:

All else of life you put to shame.

Did I not honor you aright,—

I, who but lived to see you shine,

Who felt your very pain divine,

Thanked God and warmed me in your light,

Or quaffed your tears as they were wine?

What wooed you to those stranger skies,—

What love more fond, what dreams more fair,

What music whispered in the air?

What soft delight of smiles and sighs

Enchanted you from otherwhere?

You left no pledges when you went:

The years since then are bleak and cold;

No bursting buds the Junes unfold.

While you were here my all I spent;

Now I am poor and sad and old.