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julie harris - letter to john l graves, late april 1856 كلمات أغنية

it is sunday _ now_ john _ and all have gone to church _ the wagons have done passing, and i have come out in the new grass to listen to the anthems

three or four hens have followed me, and we sit side by side _ and while they crow and whisper, i’ll tell you what i see today, and what i would that you saw _

you remember the crumbling wall that divides us from mr sweetser _ and the crumbling elms and the evergreens _ and other crumbling things _ that spring, and fade, and cast their bloom within a simple twelvemonth _ well _ they arе here, and skies on mе fairer far than italy, in blue eye look down _ up _ see! _ away _ a league from here, on the way to heaven! and here are robins _ just got home _ and giddy crows _ and jays _ and will you trust me _ as i live, here’s a bumblebees _ not such as summer brings _ john _ earnest, manly bees, but a kind of a c_ckney, dressed in jaunty clothes. much is that gay _ have i to show, if you were with me, john, upon this april grass _ then there are sadder features _ here and there, wings half gone to dust, that fluttered so, last year _ a mouldering plume, an empty house, in which a bird resided. where last year’s flies, their errand ran, and last year’s crickets fell! we, too, are flying _ fading, john _ and the song “here lies,” soon upon lips that love us now _ will have hummed and ended

to live, and die, and mount again in triumphant body, and next time, try the upper air _ is no schoolboy’s theme!

it is a holly thought to think that we can be eternal _ when air and earth are full of lives that are gone _ and done _ and a conceited thing indeed, this promised resurrection! congratulate me _ john _ lad _ and “here’s a health to you” _ that we have each a pair of lives, and need not chary be, of the one “that now is” _

thank you for your letter, john _ glad i was, to get it _ and gladder had i got them both, and glad indeed to see _ if in your heart another lies, bound one day to me _ mid your momentous cares, plasant to know that “lang syne” has it’s own place _ that nook and cranny still retain their accustomed guest. and when busier cares, and dustier days, and cobwebs, less unfrequent _ shut what was away, still, as a ballad hummed, and lost, remember early friend, and drop a tear, if a troubador that strain may chance to sing

i am glad you have a school to teach _ and happy that it is pleasant _ amused at the clerical civility _ of your new friends _ and shall feel _ i know, delight and pride, always, when you succeed. i play the old, odd tunes yet, which used to flit about your head after honest hours _ and wake dear sue, and madden me, with their grief and fun _ how far from us, that spring seems _ and those triumphant days _ our april got to heaven first _ grant we may meet her there _ at the “right hand of the father.” remember, tho’ you rove _ john _ and those who do not ramble will remember you. susie’s, and mattie’s compliments, and vinnie’s just here, and write again if you will _

- julie harris

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