Page:The poems of Richard Watson Gilder, Gilder, 1908.djvu/445

Rh The old friends seem to know me—but I am never deceived;

The one that I am is not the one that I was—yet truly

No one but I ever knew the youth who departed,

And the youth who departed still lives in the elder returning,

In whose bosom revive the days that forever are gone—

The old love and the old sweet longings;

The old love for the old place, that deepens as age comes closer,

And the heart keeps sighing and singing:

There's no place like the old place!

GLEN GILDER

curves the little river through Glen Gilder, O Glen Gilder;

Now it runs and now it rushes, now it sings and now it hushes

O'er the rocks and by the brushes in Glen Gilder.

All music is the river in Glen Gilder, O Glen Gilder;

It sounds like wild birds singing, and it chimes like bells a-ringing—

Birds, too, their songs are flinging in Glen Gilder.

O mighty are the willows of Glen Gilder, of Glen Gilder;

Cool the air and cool the waters 'neath the giant spreading shadows,

And beyond wide sweep the meadows from Glen Gilder.

O, there's life and fun and frolic in Glen Gilder, in Glen Gilder;

And near the men are haying, and here the cows are straying,

And the lambs and colts are playing in Glen Gilder.