To John P.[?] Crosby, Exq.
"Pictures of Memory" (1852)
Words by Alice Carey
Music by George Frederick Root, 1820-1895

[1.]
Among the beautiful pictures
That hang on memory's wall,
Is one of a dim old forest,
That seemeth the best of all;

Not for the gnarled oaks olden,
Dark with mistletoe;
Not for the violets golden
That sprinkle the vale below;

Not for the snow-white lilies
That lean from the fragrant hedge,
Coquetting all day with the sunbeams,
And stealing their golden edge;

Not for the vines on the upland
Where the bright red berries rest,
Nor the pinks, nor the pale sweet cow-slips,
It seemeth to me the best.

[2.]
I once had a little brother,
With eyes that were dark and deep
In the lap of that dim old forest
He lieth in peace asleep;

Light as the down of the thistle,
Free as the winds that blow,
We roved there the beautiful summers,
The summers of long ago.
  We roved there the beautiful summers,
  The summers of long ago.

[Bridge]
But his feet on the hills grew weary
And one of the autumn eves,
I made for my little brother
A bed of the yellow leaves;

Sweetly his pale arms folded
My neck in a meek embrace,
As the light of immortal beauty,
Silently covered his face,

And when the arrows of sunset,
Lodged in the tree tops bright,
He fell in his saint-like beauty
Asleep by the gates of light.

[3.]
Therefore of all the pictures
That hang on memory's wall,
The one of the dim old forest,
Seemeth the best of all.