THE ECHO OF A SONG

To my fancy, idly roaming, comes a picture of the gloaming,

Comes a fragrance from the blossoms of the lilac and the rose;

With the yellow lamplight streaming I am sitting here and dreaming

Of a half-forgotten twilight whence a mellow memory flows;

To my listening ears come winging vagrant notes of woman's singing;

I've a sense of sweet contentment as the sounds are borne along;

'Tis a mother who is tuning her fond heart to love and crooning

To her laddie such a

Sleepy little

Creepy little

Song.

Ah, how well do I remember when by crackling spark and ember

The old-fashioned oaken rocker moved with rhythmic sweep and slow;

With her feet upon the fender, in a cadence low and tender,