Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, CHILDHOOD; TO MY ONLY SISTER, by FREDERICK WILLIAM FABER


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

CHILDHOOD; TO MY ONLY SISTER, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Dost thou remember how we lived at home
Last Line: They have but shifted from thee into heaven!
Subject(s): Children; Home; Childhood


DOST thou remember how we lived at home --
That it was like an oriental place,
Where right and wrong, and praise and blame did
By ways we wonder'd at and durst not trace;
And gloom and sadness were but shadows thrown
From griefs that were our sire's and not our own?

It was a moat about our souls, an arm
Of sea, that made the world a foreign shore;
And we were too enamour'd of the charm
To dream that barks might come and waft us o'er.
Cold snow was on the hills; and they did wear
Too wild and wan a look to tempt us there.

We had traditions of our own, to weave
A web of creed and rite and sacred thought;
And when a stranger, who did not believe
As they who were our types of God had taught,
Came to our home, how harsh his words did seem
Like sounds that mar, but cannot break a dream.

And then in Scripture some high things there were,
Of which, they said, we must not read or talk;
And we, through fear, did never trespass there,
But made our Bibles like our twilight walk
In the deep woodlands, where we durst not roam
To spots from whence we could not see our home.

Albeit we fondly hoped, when we were men,
To learn the lore our parents loved so well,
And read the rites and symbols which were then
But letters of a word we could not spell --
Church-bells, and Sundays when we did not play,
And sacraments at which we might not stay.

But we too soon from our safe place were driven;
The world broke in upon our orphan'd life.
Dawnings of good, young flowers that look'd to Heaven,
It left untill'd for what seem'd manlier strife;
Like a too early summer, bringing fruit
Where spring perchance had meant another shoot!

Some begin life too soon, -- like sailors thrown
Upon a shore where common things look strange!
Like them they roam about a foreign town,
And grief awhile may own the force of change.
Yet, though one hour new dress and tongue may please,
Our second thoughts look homeward, ill at ease.

Come then unto our childhood's wreck again --
The rocks hard by our father's early grave;
And take the few chance treasures that remain,
And live through manhood upon what we save.
So shall we roam the same old shore at will!
In the fond faith that we are children still.

Christian! thy dream is now -- it was not then:
Oh! it were strange if childhood were a dream.
Strife and the world are dreams: to wakeful men
Childhood and home as jealous angels seem:
Like shapes and hues that play in clouds at even,
They have but shifted from thee into heaven!





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