Alma Frances McCollum (1879–1906)

THE LAKELET lapped its pebbled beach

In rhythmic ebb and flow,

Accordant with the melody

The forest whispered low;

The arborvitae’s spicy breath

With fragrance filled the glade,

As o’er a rustic kissing-gate

It cast protecting shade;

There, Love, you waited ardently

The precious toll to take from me.

To-day the song is softly crooned

In minor undertone,

As through the wood I sadly stroll

Alone, my love, alone.

An eerie wind has caught the gate

And open flung it wide;

O Love, I would the great Beyond

Were just the other side!

Where we could find some restful spot

And feel the peace the world gives not.

Has Heaven glowing jasper walls,

And golden portal tall?

Tell me there is a forest lake,

And glad sky over all;

That arborvitaes thickly mass

And waft their incense sweet

Above an olden trysting-place,

Where we were wont to meet;

Tell me there is a kissing-gate,

Where you, O love, my love, will wait!