Waitnot along the shore, they will not come;The suns go down beyond the windy seas,Those weary sails shall never wing them homeO’er this white foam;No voice from theseOn any landward wind that dies among the trees.Gone south, it may be, rudderless, astray,Gone where the winds and ocean currents bore,Out of all tracks along the sea’s highwayThis many a day,To some far shoreWhere never wild seas break, or any fierce winds roar.For there are lands ye never recked of yetBetween the blue of stormless sea and sky,Beyond where any suns of yours have set,Or these waves fret;And loud winds dieIn cloudless summertide, where those far islands lie.They will not come! for on the coral shoreThe good ship lies, by little waves caressed,All stormy ways and wanderings are o’er,No more, no more!But long sweet rest,In cool green meadow-lands, that lie along the West.Or if beneath far fathom depths of wavesShe lies heeled over by the slow tide’s sweep,Deep down where never any swift sea raves,Through ocean caves,A dreaming deepOf softly gliding forms, a glimmering world of sleep.Then have they passed beyond the outer gateThrough death to knowledge of all things, and soFrom out the silence of their unkown fateThey bid us wait,Who only knowThat twixt their loves and ours the great seas ebb and flow.
Waitnot along the shore, they will not come;The suns go down beyond the windy seas,Those weary sails shall never wing them homeO’er this white foam;No voice from theseOn any landward wind that dies among the trees.Gone south, it may be, rudderless, astray,Gone where the winds and ocean currents bore,Out of all tracks along the sea’s highwayThis many a day,To some far shoreWhere never wild seas break, or any fierce winds roar.For there are lands ye never recked of yetBetween the blue of stormless sea and sky,Beyond where any suns of yours have set,Or these waves fret;And loud winds dieIn cloudless summertide, where those far islands lie.They will not come! for on the coral shoreThe good ship lies, by little waves caressed,All stormy ways and wanderings are o’er,No more, no more!But long sweet rest,In cool green meadow-lands, that lie along the West.Or if beneath far fathom depths of wavesShe lies heeled over by the slow tide’s sweep,Deep down where never any swift sea raves,Through ocean caves,A dreaming deepOf softly gliding forms, a glimmering world of sleep.Then have they passed beyond the outer gateThrough death to knowledge of all things, and soFrom out the silence of their unkown fateThey bid us wait,Who only knowThat twixt their loves and ours the great seas ebb and flow.
Waitnot along the shore, they will not come;The suns go down beyond the windy seas,Those weary sails shall never wing them homeO’er this white foam;No voice from theseOn any landward wind that dies among the trees.
Gone south, it may be, rudderless, astray,Gone where the winds and ocean currents bore,Out of all tracks along the sea’s highwayThis many a day,To some far shoreWhere never wild seas break, or any fierce winds roar.
For there are lands ye never recked of yetBetween the blue of stormless sea and sky,Beyond where any suns of yours have set,Or these waves fret;And loud winds dieIn cloudless summertide, where those far islands lie.
They will not come! for on the coral shoreThe good ship lies, by little waves caressed,All stormy ways and wanderings are o’er,No more, no more!But long sweet rest,In cool green meadow-lands, that lie along the West.
Or if beneath far fathom depths of wavesShe lies heeled over by the slow tide’s sweep,Deep down where never any swift sea raves,Through ocean caves,A dreaming deepOf softly gliding forms, a glimmering world of sleep.
Then have they passed beyond the outer gateThrough death to knowledge of all things, and soFrom out the silence of their unkown fateThey bid us wait,Who only knowThat twixt their loves and ours the great seas ebb and flow.
Hedwelt unblinded with eternal truth,Through long communion perfected, not onceDid he misdeem the prelude for the song,And looking onward, to his ample viewThat long to-come when he should be no moreOutweighed the moment of his passing here.And he was happy, and his peace was full,Having outlived the struggle—not as thoseWho take the world on faith, and rest contentWith the old verdicts, question, wonder not,But feeling trusting loving are at peace.He sought and found one little germ of truth,Made pure his spirit of all chance and change,Held fast on things abiding, learned to standOn ever loftier summits-till at lastTI is brow grew starry and his searching eyesBlue with the mirrored distance, and he heardThe everlasting music, Time and spaceWere part with every heart-beat, and almostGod seemed to whisper in his listening ear.What need for him of all your wonder world?He made the wonder visible—enoughThis little handful of the common clayA seed to sow therein, and then to watchThe hidden forces quicken into life,Till leaf by leaf some flower-star unfolds,One flower of all the flowers, because the sunIs in the skies, one sun of all the suns.Search but the structure of one daisy’s heartYour lore has no such miracle as this!—And look at all the infinite device,The texture of the leaves of all the trees—Is there not marvel here enough? And yetYe crave new signs and wonders to convinceAnd wander lost upon your devious ways.Ye will but gaze upon a part, and growIn little wisdom overwise, thereforeYour partial grasp is barren to conceiveThe thought Infinity, Time wilders yetBecause ye measure with your finite gauge,And Motion maddens through your own unrest.He let the world go gladly, hand in handHe walked with Reason, till thought strained awayAnd God grew nearer,—so he built his mindA bridge to span from sun to sun of allThe starry systems;—like a faint far dreamThe changing pageant of men’s lives unrolled,And he stood by serenely,—but with himThe calm was struggle in a lordlier way,Absorbed and dwelling with eternal truth,Whose star o’ershone him; till it seemed that lifeAnd death were one, and from the throbbing browThe craving died away,—and now he restsWith that fair choir from many times whose soulsHave earned the right of knowledge after death.
Hedwelt unblinded with eternal truth,Through long communion perfected, not onceDid he misdeem the prelude for the song,And looking onward, to his ample viewThat long to-come when he should be no moreOutweighed the moment of his passing here.And he was happy, and his peace was full,Having outlived the struggle—not as thoseWho take the world on faith, and rest contentWith the old verdicts, question, wonder not,But feeling trusting loving are at peace.He sought and found one little germ of truth,Made pure his spirit of all chance and change,Held fast on things abiding, learned to standOn ever loftier summits-till at lastTI is brow grew starry and his searching eyesBlue with the mirrored distance, and he heardThe everlasting music, Time and spaceWere part with every heart-beat, and almostGod seemed to whisper in his listening ear.What need for him of all your wonder world?He made the wonder visible—enoughThis little handful of the common clayA seed to sow therein, and then to watchThe hidden forces quicken into life,Till leaf by leaf some flower-star unfolds,One flower of all the flowers, because the sunIs in the skies, one sun of all the suns.Search but the structure of one daisy’s heartYour lore has no such miracle as this!—And look at all the infinite device,The texture of the leaves of all the trees—Is there not marvel here enough? And yetYe crave new signs and wonders to convinceAnd wander lost upon your devious ways.Ye will but gaze upon a part, and growIn little wisdom overwise, thereforeYour partial grasp is barren to conceiveThe thought Infinity, Time wilders yetBecause ye measure with your finite gauge,And Motion maddens through your own unrest.He let the world go gladly, hand in handHe walked with Reason, till thought strained awayAnd God grew nearer,—so he built his mindA bridge to span from sun to sun of allThe starry systems;—like a faint far dreamThe changing pageant of men’s lives unrolled,And he stood by serenely,—but with himThe calm was struggle in a lordlier way,Absorbed and dwelling with eternal truth,Whose star o’ershone him; till it seemed that lifeAnd death were one, and from the throbbing browThe craving died away,—and now he restsWith that fair choir from many times whose soulsHave earned the right of knowledge after death.
Hedwelt unblinded with eternal truth,Through long communion perfected, not onceDid he misdeem the prelude for the song,And looking onward, to his ample viewThat long to-come when he should be no moreOutweighed the moment of his passing here.And he was happy, and his peace was full,Having outlived the struggle—not as thoseWho take the world on faith, and rest contentWith the old verdicts, question, wonder not,But feeling trusting loving are at peace.He sought and found one little germ of truth,Made pure his spirit of all chance and change,Held fast on things abiding, learned to standOn ever loftier summits-till at lastTI is brow grew starry and his searching eyesBlue with the mirrored distance, and he heardThe everlasting music, Time and spaceWere part with every heart-beat, and almostGod seemed to whisper in his listening ear.What need for him of all your wonder world?He made the wonder visible—enoughThis little handful of the common clayA seed to sow therein, and then to watchThe hidden forces quicken into life,Till leaf by leaf some flower-star unfolds,One flower of all the flowers, because the sunIs in the skies, one sun of all the suns.Search but the structure of one daisy’s heartYour lore has no such miracle as this!—And look at all the infinite device,The texture of the leaves of all the trees—Is there not marvel here enough? And yetYe crave new signs and wonders to convinceAnd wander lost upon your devious ways.Ye will but gaze upon a part, and growIn little wisdom overwise, thereforeYour partial grasp is barren to conceiveThe thought Infinity, Time wilders yetBecause ye measure with your finite gauge,And Motion maddens through your own unrest.He let the world go gladly, hand in handHe walked with Reason, till thought strained awayAnd God grew nearer,—so he built his mindA bridge to span from sun to sun of allThe starry systems;—like a faint far dreamThe changing pageant of men’s lives unrolled,And he stood by serenely,—but with himThe calm was struggle in a lordlier way,Absorbed and dwelling with eternal truth,Whose star o’ershone him; till it seemed that lifeAnd death were one, and from the throbbing browThe craving died away,—and now he restsWith that fair choir from many times whose soulsHave earned the right of knowledge after death.
Theoutline of a shadowy city spreadBetween the garden and the distant hill—And o’er yon dome the flame-ring lingers still,Set like the glory on an angel’s head:The light fades quivering into evening blueBehind the pine-tops on Ianiculum;The swallow whispered to the swallow “come!”And took the sunset on her wings, and flew.One rift of cloud the wind caught up suspendingA ruby path between the earth and sky;Those shreds of gold are angel wings ascendingFrom where the sorrows of our singers lie;They have not found those wandering spirits yet,But seek for ever in the red sunset.Pass upward angel wings! Seek not for these,They sit not in the cypress-planted graves;Their spirits wander over moonlit waves,And sing in all the singing of the seas;And by green places in the spring-tide showers,And in the re-awakening of flowers.Some pearl-lipped shell still dewy with sea foamBear back to whisper where their feet have trod;They are the earth’s for evermore; fly home!And lay a daisy at the feet of God.
Theoutline of a shadowy city spreadBetween the garden and the distant hill—And o’er yon dome the flame-ring lingers still,Set like the glory on an angel’s head:The light fades quivering into evening blueBehind the pine-tops on Ianiculum;The swallow whispered to the swallow “come!”And took the sunset on her wings, and flew.One rift of cloud the wind caught up suspendingA ruby path between the earth and sky;Those shreds of gold are angel wings ascendingFrom where the sorrows of our singers lie;They have not found those wandering spirits yet,But seek for ever in the red sunset.Pass upward angel wings! Seek not for these,They sit not in the cypress-planted graves;Their spirits wander over moonlit waves,And sing in all the singing of the seas;And by green places in the spring-tide showers,And in the re-awakening of flowers.Some pearl-lipped shell still dewy with sea foamBear back to whisper where their feet have trod;They are the earth’s for evermore; fly home!And lay a daisy at the feet of God.
Theoutline of a shadowy city spreadBetween the garden and the distant hill—And o’er yon dome the flame-ring lingers still,Set like the glory on an angel’s head:The light fades quivering into evening blueBehind the pine-tops on Ianiculum;The swallow whispered to the swallow “come!”And took the sunset on her wings, and flew.
One rift of cloud the wind caught up suspendingA ruby path between the earth and sky;Those shreds of gold are angel wings ascendingFrom where the sorrows of our singers lie;They have not found those wandering spirits yet,But seek for ever in the red sunset.
Pass upward angel wings! Seek not for these,They sit not in the cypress-planted graves;Their spirits wander over moonlit waves,And sing in all the singing of the seas;And by green places in the spring-tide showers,And in the re-awakening of flowers.
Some pearl-lipped shell still dewy with sea foamBear back to whisper where their feet have trod;They are the earth’s for evermore; fly home!And lay a daisy at the feet of God.
Nightwanes; I sit in the ruin alone;Beneath, the shadow of arches fallsFrom the dim outline of the broken walls;And the half-light steals o’er the age-worn stoneFrom a midway arch where the moon looks throughA silver shield in the deep, deep blue.This is the hour of ghosts that rise;—Line on line of the noiseless dead—The clouds above are their awning spread;Look into the shadow with moon-dazed eyes,You will see the writhing of limbs in pain,And the whole red tragedy over again.The ghostly galleys ride out and meet,The Cæsar sits in his golden chair,His fingers toy with his women’s hair,The water is blood-red under his feet,—Till the owl’s long cry dies down with the night,And one star waits for the dawning light.
Nightwanes; I sit in the ruin alone;Beneath, the shadow of arches fallsFrom the dim outline of the broken walls;And the half-light steals o’er the age-worn stoneFrom a midway arch where the moon looks throughA silver shield in the deep, deep blue.This is the hour of ghosts that rise;—Line on line of the noiseless dead—The clouds above are their awning spread;Look into the shadow with moon-dazed eyes,You will see the writhing of limbs in pain,And the whole red tragedy over again.The ghostly galleys ride out and meet,The Cæsar sits in his golden chair,His fingers toy with his women’s hair,The water is blood-red under his feet,—Till the owl’s long cry dies down with the night,And one star waits for the dawning light.
Nightwanes; I sit in the ruin alone;Beneath, the shadow of arches fallsFrom the dim outline of the broken walls;And the half-light steals o’er the age-worn stoneFrom a midway arch where the moon looks throughA silver shield in the deep, deep blue.
This is the hour of ghosts that rise;—Line on line of the noiseless dead—The clouds above are their awning spread;Look into the shadow with moon-dazed eyes,You will see the writhing of limbs in pain,And the whole red tragedy over again.
The ghostly galleys ride out and meet,The Cæsar sits in his golden chair,His fingers toy with his women’s hair,The water is blood-red under his feet,—Till the owl’s long cry dies down with the night,And one star waits for the dawning light.
Thiswas the first shrine lit for Queen Marie;And I will sit a little at her feet,For winds without howl down the narrow streetAnd storm-clouds gather from the westward sea.Sweet here to watch the peasant people pray,While through the crimson shrouded-window fallsLow light of even, and the golden wallsGrow dim and dreamful at the end of day.Till from these columns fades their marble sheen,And lines grow soft and mystical,—these wraithsThat watch the service of the changing faiths,To Mary mother from the Cyprian queen.But aye for me this old-word colonnadeSeems open to blue summer skies once more,These altars pass, and on the polished floorI see the lines of chequered light and shade;I seem to see the dark-browed Lybian leanTo cool the tortured burning of the lash,I see the fountains as they leap and flash,The rustling sway of cypress set between.And now yon friar with the bare feet there,Is grown the haunting spirit of the place;Ah! brown-robed friar with the shaven face,The saints are weary of thy mumbled prayer.From matins’ bell to the slow day’s declineHe sits and thumbs his endless round of beads,Draws out the dreary cadence of his creeds,And nods assent to each familiar line.But she the goddess whose white star is set,Whose fane was pillaged for this sombre shrine,Could she look down upon those lips of thine,And hear thee mutter, would she still regret?There came a sound of singing on my ear,And slowly glided through the far-off doorA glimmer of grey forms like ghosts, they boreA dead man lying on his purple bier.Some poor man’s soul, so little candle smokeWent curling upwards by the uncased shroud,And then a sudden thunder-clap broke loud,And drowned the droning of the priest who spoke.So all the shuffling feet passed out againTo lightnings flashing through the wet and wind,And while I lingered in the gate behindThe dead man travelled through the storm and rain.
Thiswas the first shrine lit for Queen Marie;And I will sit a little at her feet,For winds without howl down the narrow streetAnd storm-clouds gather from the westward sea.Sweet here to watch the peasant people pray,While through the crimson shrouded-window fallsLow light of even, and the golden wallsGrow dim and dreamful at the end of day.Till from these columns fades their marble sheen,And lines grow soft and mystical,—these wraithsThat watch the service of the changing faiths,To Mary mother from the Cyprian queen.But aye for me this old-word colonnadeSeems open to blue summer skies once more,These altars pass, and on the polished floorI see the lines of chequered light and shade;I seem to see the dark-browed Lybian leanTo cool the tortured burning of the lash,I see the fountains as they leap and flash,The rustling sway of cypress set between.And now yon friar with the bare feet there,Is grown the haunting spirit of the place;Ah! brown-robed friar with the shaven face,The saints are weary of thy mumbled prayer.From matins’ bell to the slow day’s declineHe sits and thumbs his endless round of beads,Draws out the dreary cadence of his creeds,And nods assent to each familiar line.But she the goddess whose white star is set,Whose fane was pillaged for this sombre shrine,Could she look down upon those lips of thine,And hear thee mutter, would she still regret?There came a sound of singing on my ear,And slowly glided through the far-off doorA glimmer of grey forms like ghosts, they boreA dead man lying on his purple bier.Some poor man’s soul, so little candle smokeWent curling upwards by the uncased shroud,And then a sudden thunder-clap broke loud,And drowned the droning of the priest who spoke.So all the shuffling feet passed out againTo lightnings flashing through the wet and wind,And while I lingered in the gate behindThe dead man travelled through the storm and rain.
Thiswas the first shrine lit for Queen Marie;And I will sit a little at her feet,For winds without howl down the narrow streetAnd storm-clouds gather from the westward sea.
Sweet here to watch the peasant people pray,While through the crimson shrouded-window fallsLow light of even, and the golden wallsGrow dim and dreamful at the end of day.
Till from these columns fades their marble sheen,And lines grow soft and mystical,—these wraithsThat watch the service of the changing faiths,To Mary mother from the Cyprian queen.
But aye for me this old-word colonnadeSeems open to blue summer skies once more,These altars pass, and on the polished floorI see the lines of chequered light and shade;
I seem to see the dark-browed Lybian leanTo cool the tortured burning of the lash,I see the fountains as they leap and flash,The rustling sway of cypress set between.
And now yon friar with the bare feet there,Is grown the haunting spirit of the place;Ah! brown-robed friar with the shaven face,The saints are weary of thy mumbled prayer.
From matins’ bell to the slow day’s declineHe sits and thumbs his endless round of beads,Draws out the dreary cadence of his creeds,And nods assent to each familiar line.
But she the goddess whose white star is set,Whose fane was pillaged for this sombre shrine,Could she look down upon those lips of thine,And hear thee mutter, would she still regret?
There came a sound of singing on my ear,And slowly glided through the far-off doorA glimmer of grey forms like ghosts, they boreA dead man lying on his purple bier.
Some poor man’s soul, so little candle smokeWent curling upwards by the uncased shroud,And then a sudden thunder-clap broke loud,And drowned the droning of the priest who spoke.
So all the shuffling feet passed out againTo lightnings flashing through the wet and wind,And while I lingered in the gate behindThe dead man travelled through the storm and rain.
Oneautumn evening from the west-most steepI watched the daylight passing o’er the deep;—Down from the setting sun the great waves rolledAlong its seaward path of molten gold,All the dark ocean rocks like capes of brassGleamed where the foam had washed them, and the grassGrew glorious with that light, and the long swellLine after line that followed, rose and fellAnd shattered into frosted gold, the skyArched splendour over splendour,—isles that lieOf crimson cloudland in pale seas of blueRed bars of flame with one star peeping through,Silent for glory; and the sea’s monotoneGrew part with silence;—the great world rolled onAnd the sun watched along the waves, untilThe glow died upwards on the western hill,And the shade saddened over all the seaReaching away, starward away from meInto the twilight and Eternity.
Oneautumn evening from the west-most steepI watched the daylight passing o’er the deep;—Down from the setting sun the great waves rolledAlong its seaward path of molten gold,All the dark ocean rocks like capes of brassGleamed where the foam had washed them, and the grassGrew glorious with that light, and the long swellLine after line that followed, rose and fellAnd shattered into frosted gold, the skyArched splendour over splendour,—isles that lieOf crimson cloudland in pale seas of blueRed bars of flame with one star peeping through,Silent for glory; and the sea’s monotoneGrew part with silence;—the great world rolled onAnd the sun watched along the waves, untilThe glow died upwards on the western hill,And the shade saddened over all the seaReaching away, starward away from meInto the twilight and Eternity.
Oneautumn evening from the west-most steepI watched the daylight passing o’er the deep;—Down from the setting sun the great waves rolledAlong its seaward path of molten gold,All the dark ocean rocks like capes of brassGleamed where the foam had washed them, and the grassGrew glorious with that light, and the long swellLine after line that followed, rose and fellAnd shattered into frosted gold, the skyArched splendour over splendour,—isles that lieOf crimson cloudland in pale seas of blueRed bars of flame with one star peeping through,Silent for glory; and the sea’s monotoneGrew part with silence;—the great world rolled onAnd the sun watched along the waves, untilThe glow died upwards on the western hill,And the shade saddened over all the seaReaching away, starward away from meInto the twilight and Eternity.
Lateevening now, and overclouded skiesTo-night we shall not see the young moon rise;The twilight deepens, and on either handThe cliffs are lost in mystic shadowland.Only low sound of breakers as they diePale shimmer of waters and a pale still skyWhere darkness gathers on the moving sea,And yet the child laughs light of heart with me!Still deeper now;—one little brown-sailed barkGlides past us seaward, drifting into dark,The only light is on the white sea-foamAnd the lamp by the crucifix: Come home!
Lateevening now, and overclouded skiesTo-night we shall not see the young moon rise;The twilight deepens, and on either handThe cliffs are lost in mystic shadowland.Only low sound of breakers as they diePale shimmer of waters and a pale still skyWhere darkness gathers on the moving sea,And yet the child laughs light of heart with me!Still deeper now;—one little brown-sailed barkGlides past us seaward, drifting into dark,The only light is on the white sea-foamAnd the lamp by the crucifix: Come home!
Lateevening now, and overclouded skiesTo-night we shall not see the young moon rise;The twilight deepens, and on either handThe cliffs are lost in mystic shadowland.Only low sound of breakers as they diePale shimmer of waters and a pale still skyWhere darkness gathers on the moving sea,And yet the child laughs light of heart with me!
Still deeper now;—one little brown-sailed barkGlides past us seaward, drifting into dark,The only light is on the white sea-foamAnd the lamp by the crucifix: Come home!
Nightgrows on the heaving oceanWith its ominous white foam flakes,And the dizzy eternal motionWhere the crest of the wave line breaks,With surge and swirl on the shingleBlown on by the keen sea wind,Surf waves that recoil and mingleWith the hurrying surf behind.Low over the sea line yonderThe gathering cloud-ranks form,With a gleam of the sunset underThe fringe of the boding storm.Along the dim cliffs hollowsThe voice of the water moans,Where the wave as it follows followsTears on at the yielding stones.The last day gleam departed,Wild gusts of a storm blast came,And out of the cloud gloom dartedThe flash of the lightning flame,And the pale, pale sea grew haggardA moment under the flash,And the line of the dark rocks staggeredAnd reeled from the thunder-crash:Long loudly sullenly pealingIt died in the cliffs afar,—And I saw that a woman was kneelingAt the cross by the harbour bar.
Nightgrows on the heaving oceanWith its ominous white foam flakes,And the dizzy eternal motionWhere the crest of the wave line breaks,With surge and swirl on the shingleBlown on by the keen sea wind,Surf waves that recoil and mingleWith the hurrying surf behind.Low over the sea line yonderThe gathering cloud-ranks form,With a gleam of the sunset underThe fringe of the boding storm.Along the dim cliffs hollowsThe voice of the water moans,Where the wave as it follows followsTears on at the yielding stones.The last day gleam departed,Wild gusts of a storm blast came,And out of the cloud gloom dartedThe flash of the lightning flame,And the pale, pale sea grew haggardA moment under the flash,And the line of the dark rocks staggeredAnd reeled from the thunder-crash:Long loudly sullenly pealingIt died in the cliffs afar,—And I saw that a woman was kneelingAt the cross by the harbour bar.
Nightgrows on the heaving oceanWith its ominous white foam flakes,And the dizzy eternal motionWhere the crest of the wave line breaks,With surge and swirl on the shingleBlown on by the keen sea wind,Surf waves that recoil and mingleWith the hurrying surf behind.
Low over the sea line yonderThe gathering cloud-ranks form,With a gleam of the sunset underThe fringe of the boding storm.Along the dim cliffs hollowsThe voice of the water moans,Where the wave as it follows followsTears on at the yielding stones.
The last day gleam departed,Wild gusts of a storm blast came,And out of the cloud gloom dartedThe flash of the lightning flame,
And the pale, pale sea grew haggardA moment under the flash,And the line of the dark rocks staggeredAnd reeled from the thunder-crash:
Long loudly sullenly pealingIt died in the cliffs afar,—And I saw that a woman was kneelingAt the cross by the harbour bar.
Timenow to close these pages, far awayAnd fainter the old hills of childhood fade,The very graves where the young dreams are laidAre hidden deep in autumn leaves to-day.It may be they have brought thee nearer truth,These hasting years, but fain wouldst thou have stayedIn the old land where trust was unbetrayed,And love was honest in the eyes of youth.And now it’s winter, and the moon of snowBlind mists of doubt, and chill unfriendly rain,But somewhere, sometime in the year, we knowIt must be spring and flowertime again.Do thou but keep, though winter days be long,Thy young love loyal, and thy young faith strong.
Timenow to close these pages, far awayAnd fainter the old hills of childhood fade,The very graves where the young dreams are laidAre hidden deep in autumn leaves to-day.It may be they have brought thee nearer truth,These hasting years, but fain wouldst thou have stayedIn the old land where trust was unbetrayed,And love was honest in the eyes of youth.And now it’s winter, and the moon of snowBlind mists of doubt, and chill unfriendly rain,But somewhere, sometime in the year, we knowIt must be spring and flowertime again.Do thou but keep, though winter days be long,Thy young love loyal, and thy young faith strong.
Timenow to close these pages, far awayAnd fainter the old hills of childhood fade,The very graves where the young dreams are laidAre hidden deep in autumn leaves to-day.
It may be they have brought thee nearer truth,These hasting years, but fain wouldst thou have stayedIn the old land where trust was unbetrayed,And love was honest in the eyes of youth.
And now it’s winter, and the moon of snowBlind mists of doubt, and chill unfriendly rain,But somewhere, sometime in the year, we knowIt must be spring and flowertime again.Do thou but keep, though winter days be long,Thy young love loyal, and thy young faith strong.
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