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C.D. Warner, et al., comp. The Library of the World’s Best Literature.
An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.

Along the Grassy Slope I Sit

By Richard Henry Stoddard (1825–1903)

ALONG the grassy slope I sit,

And dream of other years;

My heart is full of soft regrets,

My eyes of tender tears.

The wild bees hummed about the spot,

The sheep-bells tinkled far,

Last year when Alice sat with me,

Beneath the evening star.

The same sweet star is o’er me now,

Around the same soft hours;

But Alice molders in the dust

With all the last year’s flowers.

I sit alone, and only hear

The wild bees on the steep,

And distant bells that seem to float

From out the folds of Sleep.