| Show MY THEART whenever I 1 play on the old guitar the songs that my sweetheart taught mo my thoughts go back to the summer timo when first in her toils she caught me anil once agda I 1 can hear the sound of her gleeful voice blown over the meadow sweet with the scent of thyme and pink with the bloom of clover ahe faded ribbon la hanging still where her dimpled angers tied it I 1 used to envy it stealing round her neck tor she did not chide it and the inlaid pearl that her ringlets As she leaned above it lightly glow even now with a hint of gold it onoe reflected brightly whether her eyes were blue as the skies on a noonday in september or brown like those of a startled fawn I 1 cant tor the world remember but when she lifted them up to mine I 1 know that my young heart tingled in time to the tender tune she sung and the airy she jingled yet now though I 1 sweep the dusty strings by her girlish spirit haunted till out 0 the old guitar there trips A melody blithe enchanted my pulses keep on their even way and my heart has ceased its dancing for somebody else sita under the spell of the songs and sidelong glancing M E wardwell in |
