THE TIME THAT IS TO BE.
I am thinking of fern forests that once did towering stand,
Crowning all the barren mountains, shading all the dreary land.
Crowning all the barren mountains, shading all the dreary land.
Oh, the dreadful, quiet brooding, the solitude sublime,
That reigned like shadowy spectres o'er the third great day of time.
That reigned like shadowy spectres o'er the third great day of time.
In long, low lines the tideless sea on dull gray shores did break,
No song of bird, no gleam of wing, o'er wood or reedy lake—
No song of bird, no gleam of wing, o'er wood or reedy lake—
No flowers perfumed the pulseless air, no stars, no moon, no sun
To tell in silver language, night was past, or day was done.
To tell in silver language, night was past, or day was done.
Only silence rising with the ghostly morning's misty light,
Silence, silence, settling down upon the moonless, starless night.
Silence, silence, settling down upon the moonless, starless night.
