Love's Footsteps

by Frances Fuller Victor

I sang a song of olden times,

Sitting upon our sacred hill—

Sang it to feel my bosom thrill

To the sweet pathos of its rhymes.

I trilled the music o'er and o'er,

And happy, gazed upon the scene,

Thinking that there had never been

So blue a sea, so fair a shore.

A vague half dream was in my mind;

I hardly saw how sat the sun;

I noted not the day was gone

The rosy western hills behind.

'Till, soft as if Apollo blew

For me the sweet Thessalian flute,

I heard a sound which made me mute,

And more than singing thrilled me through.

Thy step—well known and well beloved!

No more I dreamed on shore or sea;

I thought of, saw but only thee,

Nor spoke, but blushed to be so moved.