If I had never knownHow far would I have wandered wistfully alone,Hearing no echo of that wondrous songWhose music lingers long.Beside whose sweetness paleEven the soft notes of the nightingale,Whose theme is wrought of laughter and of tearsFrom all the deathless years.Ah, better thus by farTo once have felt the barriers unbar,And known the moment in a rapt surpriseThe song of Paradise!
If I had never knownHow far would I have wandered wistfully alone,Hearing no echo of that wondrous songWhose music lingers long.
If I had never known
How far would I have wandered wistfully alone,
Hearing no echo of that wondrous song
Whose music lingers long.
Beside whose sweetness paleEven the soft notes of the nightingale,Whose theme is wrought of laughter and of tearsFrom all the deathless years.
Beside whose sweetness pale
Even the soft notes of the nightingale,
Whose theme is wrought of laughter and of tears
From all the deathless years.
Ah, better thus by farTo once have felt the barriers unbar,And known the moment in a rapt surpriseThe song of Paradise!
Ah, better thus by far
To once have felt the barriers unbar,
And known the moment in a rapt surprise
The song of Paradise!
The winds may blow, the sleet may dash the paneAnd all our lonely road be clothed in gray,Yet what care we how dark may be the way,Or whether e’er we see the sun again;On shall we journey through the stinging rain,Our glad hearts beating to a roundelayLearned long ago in one great, joyous day,When we first knew we had not lived in vain.We two have lived, we drank the ruddy wineAnd felt the wonder of its burning kiss—Let come what may there is no earthly powerCan take away that rapture, yours and mine.Others may weep, who would give all for this,To find what we have found—the golden hour!
The winds may blow, the sleet may dash the paneAnd all our lonely road be clothed in gray,Yet what care we how dark may be the way,Or whether e’er we see the sun again;On shall we journey through the stinging rain,Our glad hearts beating to a roundelayLearned long ago in one great, joyous day,When we first knew we had not lived in vain.
The winds may blow, the sleet may dash the pane
And all our lonely road be clothed in gray,
Yet what care we how dark may be the way,
Or whether e’er we see the sun again;
On shall we journey through the stinging rain,
Our glad hearts beating to a roundelay
Learned long ago in one great, joyous day,
When we first knew we had not lived in vain.
We two have lived, we drank the ruddy wineAnd felt the wonder of its burning kiss—Let come what may there is no earthly powerCan take away that rapture, yours and mine.Others may weep, who would give all for this,To find what we have found—the golden hour!
We two have lived, we drank the ruddy wine
And felt the wonder of its burning kiss—
Let come what may there is no earthly power
Can take away that rapture, yours and mine.
Others may weep, who would give all for this,
To find what we have found—the golden hour!
It did not look so far, and yet, and yet,The moments were so easy to forget,For now without your hand to guide, it seemsI seek in vain to find a way of dreams.A moon-lit path between aspiring trees,’Neath wind-blown leaves rustling in harmonies,A little song that I may never sing—But oh, the wondrous memory lingering.And though I never may return untilI clasp your hand beyond these years, why stillThere is one guide the path of life along—A fleeting end of dream-remembered song.
It did not look so far, and yet, and yet,The moments were so easy to forget,For now without your hand to guide, it seemsI seek in vain to find a way of dreams.
It did not look so far, and yet, and yet,
The moments were so easy to forget,
For now without your hand to guide, it seems
I seek in vain to find a way of dreams.
A moon-lit path between aspiring trees,’Neath wind-blown leaves rustling in harmonies,A little song that I may never sing—But oh, the wondrous memory lingering.
A moon-lit path between aspiring trees,
’Neath wind-blown leaves rustling in harmonies,
A little song that I may never sing—
But oh, the wondrous memory lingering.
And though I never may return untilI clasp your hand beyond these years, why stillThere is one guide the path of life along—A fleeting end of dream-remembered song.
And though I never may return until
I clasp your hand beyond these years, why still
There is one guide the path of life along—
A fleeting end of dream-remembered song.
Where the winds low list and the leafless treesStand gaunt and gray ’gainst the sullen sky,The naked boughs whisper melodiesOf Summer spent and of Spring gone by—Of days once glad that are gone forever,Of lips once true that will answer never,Of life and love that are but as theseDead leaves of Autumn grown withered and dry.But a spirit haunts in the moon’s pale glowAnd all is changed as she sings a strain,While the night winds hearken and lightly blowHer loose-bound hair in a raven-rain—And bear her song to the distant closes,Where many a longing heart reposes,Waking old love-dreams that overflowIn a rapturous joy and wistful pain.Ah, that song ’tis sweet as the pipes of Pan,Or faint lutes sounding in ArcadyThrough the purple dawn,—yea, far sweeter thanThe music that wafts from a Southern sea!Beneath its spell the wastes bloom in flowers,And back again come the vanished hours,For she who sings to the soul of manIs the Autumn spirit of memory.
Where the winds low list and the leafless treesStand gaunt and gray ’gainst the sullen sky,The naked boughs whisper melodiesOf Summer spent and of Spring gone by—Of days once glad that are gone forever,Of lips once true that will answer never,Of life and love that are but as theseDead leaves of Autumn grown withered and dry.
Where the winds low list and the leafless trees
Stand gaunt and gray ’gainst the sullen sky,
The naked boughs whisper melodies
Of Summer spent and of Spring gone by—
Of days once glad that are gone forever,
Of lips once true that will answer never,
Of life and love that are but as these
Dead leaves of Autumn grown withered and dry.
But a spirit haunts in the moon’s pale glowAnd all is changed as she sings a strain,While the night winds hearken and lightly blowHer loose-bound hair in a raven-rain—And bear her song to the distant closes,Where many a longing heart reposes,Waking old love-dreams that overflowIn a rapturous joy and wistful pain.
But a spirit haunts in the moon’s pale glow
And all is changed as she sings a strain,
While the night winds hearken and lightly blow
Her loose-bound hair in a raven-rain—
And bear her song to the distant closes,
Where many a longing heart reposes,
Waking old love-dreams that overflow
In a rapturous joy and wistful pain.
Ah, that song ’tis sweet as the pipes of Pan,Or faint lutes sounding in ArcadyThrough the purple dawn,—yea, far sweeter thanThe music that wafts from a Southern sea!Beneath its spell the wastes bloom in flowers,And back again come the vanished hours,For she who sings to the soul of manIs the Autumn spirit of memory.
Ah, that song ’tis sweet as the pipes of Pan,
Or faint lutes sounding in Arcady
Through the purple dawn,—yea, far sweeter than
The music that wafts from a Southern sea!
Beneath its spell the wastes bloom in flowers,
And back again come the vanished hours,
For she who sings to the soul of man
Is the Autumn spirit of memory.
Ah, many were they then of yesterday,Who bore me gifts of attar and of myrrh,And leaves of roses delicate that wereSprung from a garden-close in far Cathay;While I, unheeding, let them pass their wayNor cared for all the gifts they might confer,Watching in vain for one dear loiterer,Who never dreamed adown my path to stray.And now out in the lonely road I stand,Where echoes drearily the ceaseless treadOf stranger footsteps, slow and burdensome—I am forgot and empty is each hand,Save for the dust of roses witherèd,Yet still I wait for you who never come.
Ah, many were they then of yesterday,Who bore me gifts of attar and of myrrh,And leaves of roses delicate that wereSprung from a garden-close in far Cathay;While I, unheeding, let them pass their wayNor cared for all the gifts they might confer,Watching in vain for one dear loiterer,Who never dreamed adown my path to stray.
Ah, many were they then of yesterday,
Who bore me gifts of attar and of myrrh,
And leaves of roses delicate that were
Sprung from a garden-close in far Cathay;
While I, unheeding, let them pass their way
Nor cared for all the gifts they might confer,
Watching in vain for one dear loiterer,
Who never dreamed adown my path to stray.
And now out in the lonely road I stand,Where echoes drearily the ceaseless treadOf stranger footsteps, slow and burdensome—I am forgot and empty is each hand,Save for the dust of roses witherèd,Yet still I wait for you who never come.
And now out in the lonely road I stand,
Where echoes drearily the ceaseless tread
Of stranger footsteps, slow and burdensome—
I am forgot and empty is each hand,
Save for the dust of roses witherèd,
Yet still I wait for you who never come.
If only in your life to live, might IPerchance those broken chords with my own meet,Though quite imperfect, yet but thus to tryWere oh, so wondrous sweet.Not the broad high-roads which you would have trod,A lonely wanderer these may not essay,Still, spirit mine, the by-paths that I plodDo lead the selfsame way.And if a little part I should fulfilOf those fair deeds which you hoped to pursue—Oh, how content to walk the miles untilI reach my home and you.
If only in your life to live, might IPerchance those broken chords with my own meet,Though quite imperfect, yet but thus to tryWere oh, so wondrous sweet.
If only in your life to live, might I
Perchance those broken chords with my own meet,
Though quite imperfect, yet but thus to try
Were oh, so wondrous sweet.
Not the broad high-roads which you would have trod,A lonely wanderer these may not essay,Still, spirit mine, the by-paths that I plodDo lead the selfsame way.
Not the broad high-roads which you would have trod,
A lonely wanderer these may not essay,
Still, spirit mine, the by-paths that I plod
Do lead the selfsame way.
And if a little part I should fulfilOf those fair deeds which you hoped to pursue—Oh, how content to walk the miles untilI reach my home and you.
And if a little part I should fulfil
Of those fair deeds which you hoped to pursue—
Oh, how content to walk the miles until
I reach my home and you.
Low blowing winds from out a midnight sky,The falling embers and a kettle’s croon—These three, but oh what sweeter lullabyEver awoke beneath the winter’s moon.We know of none the sweeter, you and I,And oft we’ve heard together that old tune—Low blowing winds from out a midnight sky,The falling embers and a kettle’s croon.
Low blowing winds from out a midnight sky,The falling embers and a kettle’s croon—These three, but oh what sweeter lullabyEver awoke beneath the winter’s moon.
Low blowing winds from out a midnight sky,
The falling embers and a kettle’s croon—
These three, but oh what sweeter lullaby
Ever awoke beneath the winter’s moon.
We know of none the sweeter, you and I,And oft we’ve heard together that old tune—Low blowing winds from out a midnight sky,The falling embers and a kettle’s croon.
We know of none the sweeter, you and I,
And oft we’ve heard together that old tune—
Low blowing winds from out a midnight sky,
The falling embers and a kettle’s croon.
Spirit of old-time roses, when the glowOf eventide steals softly through the treesLike rosy petals falling, and the breezeGrows hushed until it sings a love-song, lowAnd sweet and tender, then I seem to knowYou too are somewhere near and watching theseLast wondrous sights of day—God’s mysteriesWe used to watch together long ago.And, like a benediction, happinessFills all my soul, as if a wandering breathFrom that high heaven had wafted down to me—As if I felt again your dear caressAnd knew you to be waiting e’er in death,Crowned with the roses of eternity.
Spirit of old-time roses, when the glowOf eventide steals softly through the treesLike rosy petals falling, and the breezeGrows hushed until it sings a love-song, lowAnd sweet and tender, then I seem to knowYou too are somewhere near and watching theseLast wondrous sights of day—God’s mysteriesWe used to watch together long ago.
Spirit of old-time roses, when the glow
Of eventide steals softly through the trees
Like rosy petals falling, and the breeze
Grows hushed until it sings a love-song, low
And sweet and tender, then I seem to know
You too are somewhere near and watching these
Last wondrous sights of day—God’s mysteries
We used to watch together long ago.
And, like a benediction, happinessFills all my soul, as if a wandering breathFrom that high heaven had wafted down to me—As if I felt again your dear caressAnd knew you to be waiting e’er in death,Crowned with the roses of eternity.
And, like a benediction, happiness
Fills all my soul, as if a wandering breath
From that high heaven had wafted down to me—
As if I felt again your dear caress
And knew you to be waiting e’er in death,
Crowned with the roses of eternity.