Page:Maryland, my Maryland, and other poems - Randall - 1908.pdf/117

 The reverend grandsire left my grateful shade
 * And baby eyes beheld my form no more;

The dazzling lawyer in the sod was laid;
 * The keen preceptor fell, with all his lore;

The brilliant master slumbers in the glade—
 * Not lost, but in due meekness gone before.

Still lingers my sweet matron, gravely bright,
 * With stalwart sons and daughters tall and grand.

They stand between her and the ghosts who might
 * Become a mournful, melancholy band.

I watch her, when the hours are aflight,
 * Her gaze uplifted to the shining strand!


 * Perchance, you think a willow has no tongue,
 * No sentient touch, no article of speech,

No power to soothe the heart, in anguish wrung,
 * No message to impart or moral teach.

But lo! a poet all my dreams has sung,
 * And who that sorcery will dare impeach?