COCECHO RIVER.
23
I only wonder if she thinks,
In her manorial halls,
Of seasons when the grapes are red
Above Cochecho Falls.
In her manorial halls,
Of seasons when the grapes are red
Above Cochecho Falls.
I wonder if she'd like to smell
Once more the mint and balm;
Or if she'd care to hear again
The pine woods chant their psalm.
Once more the mint and balm;
Or if she'd care to hear again
The pine woods chant their psalm.
I wonder if her jeweled breast
Is stirred by one chance thought
Of what life might have been to her,—
Of what love might have brought.
Is stirred by one chance thought
Of what life might have been to her,—
Of what love might have brought.
COCHECHO RIVER.
A silver ribbon winding calm and slow
Across the meadows where the daisies grow,
'Tween steep high banks fringed with the feath'ry sedge,
Where elms and birches sweep the water's edge,
And the red sunbeams with a golden glint
Paint the faint ripples round the peppermint.
Across the meadows where the daisies grow,
'Tween steep high banks fringed with the feath'ry sedge,
Where elms and birches sweep the water's edge,
And the red sunbeams with a golden glint
Paint the faint ripples round the peppermint.
In the mild twilights of the summer days,
When hill and highland hide in purple haze,
A breath of music steals up faint and low,—
The gliding of the river, calm and slow,
O'er glittering pebbles just beyond the bridge,
Where the great eddy sweeps the Chestnut Ridge.
When hill and highland hide in purple haze,
A breath of music steals up faint and low,—
The gliding of the river, calm and slow,
O'er glittering pebbles just beyond the bridge,
Where the great eddy sweeps the Chestnut Ridge.
