lirik lagu julie harris - letter to john l graves, late april 1856
it is sunday ~ now~ john ~ and all have gone to church ~ the wagons have done passing, and i have come out in the new grass to listen to the anthems
three or four hens have followed me, and we sit side by side ~ and while they crow and whisper, i’ll tell you what i see today, and what i would that you saw ~
you remember the crumbling wall that divides us from mr sweetser ~ and the crumbling elms and the evergreens ~ and other crumbling things ~ that spring, and fade, and cast their bloom within a simple twelvemonth ~ well ~ they arе here, and skies on mе fairer far than italy, in blue eye look down ~ up ~ see! ~ away ~ a league from here, on the way to heaven! and here are robins ~ just got home ~ and giddy crows ~ and jays ~ and will you trust me ~ as i live, here’s a bumblebees ~ not such as summer brings ~ john ~ earnest, manly bees, but a kind of a c~ckney, dressed in jaunty clothes. much is that gay ~ have i to show, if you were with me, john, upon this april grass ~ then there are sadder features ~ here and there, wings half gone to dust, that fluttered so, last year ~ a mouldering plume, an empty house, in which a bird resided. where last year’s flies, their errand ran, and last year’s crickets fell! we, too, are flying ~ fading, john ~ and the song “here lies,” soon upon lips that love us now ~ will have hummed and ended
to live, and die, and mount again in triumphant body, and next time, try the upper air ~ is no schoolboy’s theme!
it is a holly thought to think that we can be eternal ~ when air and earth are full of lives that are gone ~ and done ~ and a conceited thing indeed, this promised resurrection! congratulate me ~ john ~ lad ~ and “here’s a health to you” ~ that we have each a pair of lives, and need not chary be, of the one “that now is” ~
thank you for your letter, john ~ glad i was, to get it ~ and gladder had i got them both, and glad indeed to see ~ if in your heart another lies, bound one day to me ~ mid your momentous cares, plasant to know that “lang syne” has it’s own place ~ that nook and cranny still retain their accustomed guest. and when busier cares, and dustier days, and cobwebs, less unfrequent ~ shut what was away, still, as a ballad hummed, and lost, remember early friend, and drop a tear, if a troubador that strain may chance to sing
i am glad you have a school to teach ~ and happy that it is pleasant ~ amused at the clerical civility ~ of your new friends ~ and shall feel ~ i know, delight and pride, always, when you succeed. i play the old, odd tunes yet, which used to flit about your head after honest hours ~ and wake dear sue, and madden me, with their grief and fun ~ how far from us, that spring seems ~ and those triumphant days ~ our april got to heaven first ~ grant we may meet her there ~ at the “right hand of the father.” remember, tho’ you rove ~ john ~ and those who do not ramble will remember you. susie’s, and mattie’s compliments, and vinnie’s just here, and write again if you will ~
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