2O8 THE OLD DOORSTONE.
Where the stones of the marble village Stand thickly side by side."
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Where a rift in the budding clover Had furrowed a rugged mark,
O er the breast of the silent sleeper To the opal came back its spark.
��THE OLD DOORSTONE.
" T AM going, old house ! You belong to a stranger, 1 Old house, that was Eden in days that are o er.
I am going, old garden ! Good-bye!" How I linger Upon the stone step that is close by the door !
Worn by the footsteps of those who have loved me ;
Worn by the tread that shall pass it no more ; Worn by the feet that walked in at the threshold,
But outward were borne through the wide-open door;
Rosy with flowers we twined in the spring-time, Blushing with blossoms the summer-time bore,
Littered with golden-hued leaves of the autumn, Or mantled in snow, lay the stone by the door.
There, sit at eventide, memories tender,
And shadows of day-dreams that died long ago ;
These, sweeter than roses and fairer than flowers Those, sadder than autumn leaves, colder than snow.
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