Still stay I lovingly near her,
Enraptured--sometimes I fear her
Soul is on its wings--
And ask will it yet return?--
Seems it so pure, so lost and gone,
Whenever she sings.
Lingering and waiting near her--
The words that she speaks are dearer
Than birds' songs in May.
With sweet thoughts will I surround her,
As on the day I first found her,
Forever--for aye.
I have been particular in my description of this lady and friend,
because they became the encouragers of the later movement in Boston,
where those who remained true to the Brook Farm ideas formed themselves
into a society of zealots to propagate the faith, she giving her
splendid talents and her warm enthusiasm freely to the movement, and
because they were as truly united with us as if enrolled as members on
the farm.
It was in the latter part of the month of January that we had the
fulfilment of a promise of a long visit from the fair singer. The
winter had grown cold and stormy; the white snow covered the fields,
and at times we gleefully slid down the hills over its frozen crust on
sleds and improvised vehicles. And there were days of transcendent
beauty. I remember especially, a solitary visit to the pine woods after
a deep snow storm, and the lifelong impression of it remains.
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