Where the grass grows soft and green,
And the brook glides by and the shadows fall
In a flickering, shimmering sheen.
I sit and dream of days that are fled
Adown the dim aisles of the past,
I reach out my hands for hands that are dead__
Long years since I touched them last.
I long for the sound of steps that were dear,
I look for the love-lit eyes,
I list for voices I ne'er shall hear,
Whose muse is beyond the skies.
But time speeds on, we shall meet some day__
With love as true and fond,
On some mystic isle in the far-away
__Mrs. Ella Goodwin, Ludell.
Poets and Poetry of Kansas
Edited by Thomas W. Herringshaw
(Chicago: American Publishers' Association. 1894)