Beyond, the flowers nod sleepily
At the well-sweep, gaunt and tall;
And up from the glen comes the musical roar
Of the distant waterfall.
The cows roam lazily to and fro
Along the shady lane;
The shouts of the reapers sound faint and far
From the fields of golden grain.

And grandma herself, a happy girl,
Stands watching the setting sun,
While the spinner rests, and the reapers cease,
And the long day's work is done;
Then something wakes her--the room is dark,
And vanished the sunset glow,
And grandmother wakes, with a sad surprise,
From the dreams of long ago.

Great-Aunt Lucy Lee

By Cora Walker Hayes

Sometimes when I am tired of play
My mother says to me,
"Come, daughter, we will call to-day
On Great-aunt Lucy Lee."

And soon, by mother's side, I skip
Along the quiet street,
Where tall old trees, on either side,
Throw shadows at my feet.

The houses stand in solemn rows,
And not a child is seen;
The blinds are drawn, the doors are shut,
The walks are span and clean.

Then when we come to number three,
I stretch my hand up--so!
And find the old brass knocker's ring;
I rap, and in we go.

There Great-aunt Lucy, small and prim,
Sits by the chimney-piece;
Her knitting-needles clicking go,
And never seem to cease.

Aunt Lucy's eyes are blue and kind,
Her wrinkled face is fair;
She hides with cap or snowy lace
Her pretty silver hair.

Aunt Lucy's voice is sweet and low,
Her smile is quick and bright;
She wears a gown of lavender,
And kerchief soft and white.

I fold my hands in front of me
And sit quite still and staid,
Till Great-aunt Lucy, smiling, says,
"Come hither, little maid!"

There Great-aunt Lucy small and prim
Sits by the chimney-piece
Her knitting needles clicking go
And never seem to cease]

[Illustration:
Pale roses of a hundred leaves
Sweet-William, Four-o'clocks
Pinks, daisies, bleeding-hearts and things
All bordered round with box]

And from her silken bag she takes
A peppermint or two,
And questions me about my play,
My school, my dolls, the Zoo.

And then she rings for Hannah, who
Comes hobbli