December 8, 1929 & “Memories of Windermere”

Sun., 8  Henrietta & Warner come. Karl is in Chicago. Still in bed.

and a poem that was tucked into my copy of Green Mountain Echoes, printed on a little piece of paper

MEMORIES OF WINDERMERE

The still grey dusk is closing down

And hiding the roofs of the sleepy town;

The stealthy dusk with padded feet,

Bringing a host of memories sweet

Of old camp days—I stand once more

On the time-seamed rocks of a quiet shore,

Or with lazy oar on the shining bay

Happily drift the hours away.

 

The sun came in at the open door,

A noontide dial on the floor.

My mother’s voice—I cannot forget,

In my ears its cadence is ringing yet.

So clean and homey the cottage grew

Under the touches her deft hands knew.

Idly busy we dreamed and read

With the rough-sawn timbers overhead.

 

Our fishing trip ended with quickened stroke

When we saw the rise of the cook room smoke;

Its spiral curling through the trees

Was borne aloft on the summer breeze,

Pine and cedar and the blue between,

Visions of dinner and appetites keen,

The noontide hour, the jests we said

With the rough-sawn timbers overhead.

 

Our bonfires flashed through the starlight nights

An answering gream to the challenging lights

From Thompson’s Point across the bay

Where their shimmering track on the water lay.

Oh, silent water, oh, memorable shore,

You still are there but the loves you wore

Are vanished away like flotsam cast

On a swift dark river in a mist hung past!

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This entry was posted in 1929 Ella's Diary, Clippings, DIARIES, From the H. Sheldon Museum, Henrietta Fisher Field, Karl Field, PEOPLE, Poems, Warner Field and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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