150
night.
IV.
O high-born souls, such as God sends to mould
His ages in—and you too, who have known
The pang of strife, and are at last at one
With nature so,—yea, all who have made bold
Our timid dreams, and proffered to the hold
A certain joy—come mingle in life's cope
Star-fields of verity and stable hope,
With these swift meteors and illusions old!
I sent this summons through the deeps of june,
When life surged up so warm and affluent,
It wrapt the very whiteness of the moon;—
No wonder many came—they came and went—
And thou, who sleep'st half sad and wak'st with pain,
Thou camest too and dost alone remain.
His ages in—and you too, who have known
The pang of strife, and are at last at one
With nature so,—yea, all who have made bold
Our timid dreams, and proffered to the hold
A certain joy—come mingle in life's cope
Star-fields of verity and stable hope,
With these swift meteors and illusions old!
I sent this summons through the deeps of june,
When life surged up so warm and affluent,
It wrapt the very whiteness of the moon;—
No wonder many came—they came and went—
And thou, who sleep'st half sad and wak'st with pain,
Thou camest too and dost alone remain.
