The following poems were found with my G grandfather, Almon Keeler Raff's, effects. They were written on one sheet of stationary. The handwriting is tiny, very ornate and exquisitely beautiful and, except for the title of the first poem, quite legible. (Although I confess my bifocals were not up to the task in spots and I had to get out the magnifying glass! :)) The second word of the first poem's title looks like "Queechy". (A nickname?) Only the first poem is signed and dated. I'm wondering if they were treasured copies by a published poet, or if someone named "Fleda" wrote them for him before he went off to the Civil War. If anyone recognizes them, please let me know! >From Queechy "Cold blew the east wind And thick fell the rain, I looked for the tops Of the mountains in vain; Twilight was gathering And dark grew the west, And the wood-fires crackling Toned well with the rest. Speak fire and tell me Thy flickering flame Fell on one in years past- Say, am I the same? Has my face the same brightness In those days it wore? My foot the same lightness As it crosses the floor? Methinks there are changes- I am weary to-night,- I once was as tireless As the bird on her flight; My bark in full measure Threw foam from the prow;- Not even for pleasure Would I care to move now. 'Tis not the foot only That lieth thus still,- I am weary in spirit, I am listless in will. My eye vainly peereth Through the darkness to find Some object that cheereth- Some light for the mind. What shadows come o'er me- What things of the past, Bright things of my childhood That fled all too fast; The scenes where light roaming My foot wandered free, Come back through the gloaming,- Come all back to me. The cool autumn evening, The fair summer morn, The dress and the aspect Some dear ones have worn, The sunshiny places,- The shady hill-side,- The words and the faces That might not abide. Die out little fire- Ay, blacken and pine! To have paled many lights That were brighter than thine. I can quicken thy embers Again with a breath, But the others lie cold In the ashes of death." "Fleda." 1861 ~~~~~*~~~~~ The Chestnuts "Merrily sang the crickets forth One fair October night;- And the stars looked down, and the northern crown Gave its strange fantastic light. A nipping frost was in the air On flowers and grass it fell; And the leaves were still on the eastern hill As if touched by a fairy spell. To the very top of the tall nut trees The frost king seemed to ride; With his wand he stirs the chestnut burrs, And straight they are opened wide. And the squirrels and children together dream Of the coming winters hoard; And many I ween, are the chestnuts seen In hole or in garret stored. The children are sleeping in feather-beds- Poor Bun in his mossy nest,- He courts repose with his tail on his nose On the others warm blankets rest. Late in the morning the sun gets up >From behind the village spire; And the children dream, that the first red gleam Is the chestnut trees on fire." ~~~~~~*~~~~~~ Elaine Rathmann ACC: Scott Co, IA USGenWeb Project List Adm: *IA-CIVIL-WAR *IA-DANES