In An Old Nursery

A prim old room where memories stir

Through faded chintz and wall-paper,

Like bees along the lavender

          Of some dim border ;

Bay-windowed, whence at close of day

You see the roosty starlings sway

High on the elm-tree's topmost spray

          In gossip order.

In its quaint realm how soon one slips

Back to the age of treasure-ships,

The atmosphere of cowboy-trips

          And boundless prairies ;

And when the red logs fret and fume

(They're lit to-night to air the room)

Here come a tip-toe in the gloom

          Old nursery fairies.

Here come dear ghosts to him who sees-

Fat ghosts of long digested teas,

Thin little ghosts of "saying please,"

          Big ghosts of birthdays,

And sundry honourable sprites

To whisper those foredone delights

Of hallowe'ens and stocking-nights

          And other mirth-days.

Its walls are full of musics drawn

From twitterings in the eaves at dawn,

From swish of scythe on summer lawn,

          From Shetlands pawing

The gravel by the front-door yew,

And, wind-tossed from the avenue,

Fugues of first February blue

          And rooks a-cawing.

Old room, the years have galloped on,

The days that danced, the hours that shone

Have turned their backs on you and gone

          By ways that harden ;

But you in you their gold and myrrh

And frankincense of dreams still stir

Like bees that haunt the lavender

          Of some walled garden !

Patrick R Chalmers – Green Days and Blue Days (1912)

A little too sentimental for me yet it still appeals, stirring up delicate pastel tones of long afternoons spent musing in the dappled shade of old memories.