Vanished Years BY HELEN A. SAXON

She sitteth in the sunshine, old and gray, Her faded kerchief crossed upon her breast, Her withered form in sober colors drest, Her eyes, deep-sunken with far memory, See not the eager children at their play But look beyond them to the crimsoning west, And still beyond where everlasting rest Remains to crown and close her little day. Yet all the fragrance of the vanished years Is at her heart, and time hath left its trace In lines engraved by joy no less than tears Upon her tranquil and unconscious face. For Youth, quick-flying, left his dearer part, Imperishable love, within her heart.