Moore (who wrote as Clara Moreton) may have forgotten that she'd originally published the poem titled "Twilight Musings" in the first volume of the Southern children's periodical Schoolfellow, or she may decided the poem would benefit from revision -- and that the alterations constituted a new poem. For whatever reason, a strikingly similar version appeared under a new title in the 1854 volume of another children's periodical, Little Pilgrim.
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The Schoolfellow vol. 1, no 7 July 1849 Twilight Musings WRITTEN FOR THE SCHOOLFELLOW BY CLARA MORETON. I am thinking of a forest— A forest dark and green, Where grow sweet-valley lilies Beneath their leafy screen. And there, the violet droops her head, And wood-bine spreads perfume, Around a narrow little grave— It is my sister's tomb. How thick the moss that grows beside, How fresh the plume-like fern, Which spreads its pale green leaves about, Clasping the marble urn. A little urn—a simple urn Where on her name is writ—: So covered with the moss and leaves You scarce would notice it. But there is graved, in letters small, The day—the year she died: Ah, I was young and but a child, Yet bitterly I cried. |
The Little Pilgrim - vol 1, no. 4 April 1854 WRITTEN FOR THE LITTLE PILGRIM. MY SISTER'S GRAVE. BY CLARA MORETON. Far in a northern forest— A forest dark and green, Where grow the valley lilies Beneath their leafy screen— There, where the violet hides her head, And woodbines shed perfume, There is a narrow little grave— My only sister's tomb. How thick the moss that grows around, How sweet the plume-like fern, Which spreads its pale green leaves about, Clasping the marble urn. A little urn—a simple urn Whereon her name is writ—: So covered with the moss and leaves You scarce would notice it. On it is graved, in letters small, The day—the year she died: Ah, I was young and but a child, Yet bitterly I cried. And many years have passed since then, And I a woman grown, Yet yearn I for a sister's smile— A sister's loving tone. And whensoe'er I seek the home Where childhood's steps did rove, The dearest place I wander to Is that lone woodland grove. |