Monday, October 6, 2014

In The Garret

Four little chests all in a row,
Dim with dust, and worn by time,
All fashioned and filled, long ago,
By children now in their prime.
Four little keys hung side by side,
With faded ribbons, brave and gay
When fastened there, with childish pride,
Long ago, on a rainy day.
Four little names, one on each lid,
Carved out by a boyish hand,
And underneath there lieth hid
Histories of the happy band
Once playing here, and pausing oft
To hear the sweet refrain,
That came and went on the roof aloft,
In the falling summer rain.

'Meg' on the first lid, smooth and fair.
I look in with loving eyes,
For folded here, with well-known care,
A goodly gathering lies,
The record of a peaceful life--
Gifts to gentle child and girl,
A bridal gown, lines to a wife,
A tiny shoe, a baby curl.
No toys in this first chest remain,
For all are carried away,
In their old age, to join again
In another small Meg's play.
Ah, happy mother! Well I know
You hear, like a sweet refrain,
Lullabies ever soft and low
In the falling summer rain.

'Jo' on the next lid, scratched and worn,
And within a motley store
Of headless dolls, of schoolbooks torn,
Birds and beasts that speak no more,
Spoils brought home from the fairy ground
Only trod by youthful feet,
Dreams of a future never found,
Memories of a past still sweet,
Half-writ poems, stories wild,
April letters, warm and cold,
Diaries of a wilful child,
Hints of a woman early old,
A woman in a lonely home,
Hearing, like a sad refrain--
'Be worthy, love, and love will come,'
In the falling summer rain.

My Beth! the dust is always swept
From the lid that bears your name,
As if by loving eyes that wept,
By careful hands that often came.
Death canonized for us one saint,
Ever less human than divine,
And still we lay, with tender plaint,
Relics in this household shrine--
The silver bell, so seldom rung,
The little cap which last she wore,
The fair, dead Catherine that hung
By angels borne above her door.
The songs she sang, without lament,
In her prison-house of pain,
Forever are they sweetly blent
With the falling summer rain.

Upon the last lid's polished field--
Legend now both fair and true
A gallant knight bears on his shield,
'Amy' in letters gold and blue.
Within lie snoods that bound her hair,
Slippers that have danced their last,
Faded flowers laid by with care,
Fans whose airy toils are past,
Gay valentines, all ardent flames,
Trifles that have borne their part
In girlish hopes and fears and shames,
The record of a maiden heart
Now learning fairer, truer spells,
Hearing, like a blithe refrain,
The silver sound of bridal bells
In the falling summer rain.
~Louisa May Alcott~

*(Photos taken of me by my brother. Please do not steal!)*



  1. Beautiful photos!! Your brother really knows how to use a camera. :D It is really amazing there...around here is it mostly trees and corn. Not many clearings nor mountains. :D It was really nice talking to you on the phone this evening! :)

  2. Thanks Julia! Yes, he is very good! I always wished we had lots of trees here! It was AWESOME talking to you to!
    Love you sista!

  3. So beautiful! The photos are amazing by the way. :)

  4. You write beautifully... I saw your guest post, and headed off to visit your blog immediately!:)
    You have such a lovely blog, new follower! <3
    Looking forward to your wonderful future posts:)
    The Journeys of My Beating Heart

  5. Thank you, J!!! I always love to see new followers!!!!
    I'll check out your blog as well! :)

  6. Wow!! That is an amazing poem! I thoroughly enjoyed it =) Thank you for sharing! And wonderful pictures by your brother!

    1. Thanks Jessica! Yes he is a great photographer!

  7. I think this is now my favorite poem! These photos are simply stunning.
    I saw your guest post and followed the link here. Your blog is wonderful! You have a new follower! :)
    --Rebecca at The Silver Flute

  8. Thank you Rebecca! I know, I just love Louisa May Aloctts work! Thanks for following! I think your blog is awesome! And you have such a creative blog name!