There were steps that flew o'er the cowslip's head,
As if for a banquet all earth were spread;
There were voices that rung through the sapphire sky,
And had not a sound of mortality!
Are they gone? is their mirth from the mountains pass'd?
—Ye have look'd on death since ye met me last!
I know whence the shadow comes o'er you now,
Ye have strewn the dust on the sunny brow!
Ye have given the lovely to earth's embrace,
She hath taken the fairest of beauty's race,
With their laughing eyes and their festal crown,
They are gone from amongst you in silence down!
They are gone from amongst you, the young and fair,
Ye have lost the gleam of their shining hair!
—But I know of a land where there falls no blight,
I shall find them there, with their eyes of light!
Where Death midst the blooms of the morn may dwell,
I tarry no longer—farewell, farewell!
The summer is coming, on soft winds borne,
Ye may press the grape, ye may bind the corn!
