Poems (Chitwood)/To Leda

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TO LEDA.
The orchard trees are white with flowers, And I am sitting 'neath their bloom,Dreaming the aromatic hours Away in soft perfume.A sort of gentle music floats Melodiously to mine ear; ​Of bees' low murmurs, and the notes Of bird songs low but clear.
Long years ago, an eve as fair As this, beneath the odorous flowers,Their blooms upon our mingled hair Fell slowly through the hours.Nor bees' low murmur, nor the birds Last nestling twitter met my ear;I listened to the lips whose words I'm pining now to hear.
That was our last fond meeting—years Have circled slowly by since then;But, oh! to-night my spirit hears Thy parting words again,In all their music-lulling tone; In all the sadness of farewell,I feel the pressure in my own Of hands invisible.
The orchard trees are white with flowers, And I am sitting 'neath their bloom,Breathing the aromatic hours Away in soft perfume;The evening star is shining clear, And odorous breezes tremble by;I call thy name, and pause to hear Thy gentle voice reply.
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