Poems (Argent)/Last Days
Jump to navigation
Jump to search
LAST DAYS.
OH! sorrowful and sweet
Are these last days of summer that do bring
A dim foreboding on their passing wing,
For never more this year will flood the hills
In eddying waves of light—nor touch the rills
With dazzling sunbeam or with lightning glow,
And tender song of birds whose notes still flow,
Most sorrowful and sweet.
Are these last days of summer that do bring
A dim foreboding on their passing wing,
For never more this year will flood the hills
In eddying waves of light—nor touch the rills
With dazzling sunbeam or with lightning glow,
And tender song of birds whose notes still flow,
Most sorrowful and sweet.
Oh! sorrowful and sweet
This murmur from a sea whose rock-bound caves
Look down with horror on the silent graves,
That keep perpetual secret of the souls
That rest below, where ocean grandly rolls.
The dashing foam, the spray-encircled main
Whisper unceasingly their sad refrain,
Oh! sorrowful, yet sweet.
This murmur from a sea whose rock-bound caves
Look down with horror on the silent graves,
That keep perpetual secret of the souls
That rest below, where ocean grandly rolls.
The dashing foam, the spray-encircled main
Whisper unceasingly their sad refrain,
Oh! sorrowful, yet sweet.
Oh! sorrowful and sweet
Are these last days, these hours of thine and mine
All gathered up and laid at friendship's shrine,
The noon of joy once foaming as a cup
Of sparkling wine, now drank for ever up.
The farewell eve with scarce a star between
To point the way where happiness hath been,
Most sorrowful yet sweet.
Are these last days, these hours of thine and mine
All gathered up and laid at friendship's shrine,
The noon of joy once foaming as a cup
Of sparkling wine, now drank for ever up.
The farewell eve with scarce a star between
To point the way where happiness hath been,
Most sorrowful yet sweet.
Oh! sorrowful and sweet,
More transient than the clouds that onward pass
And throw their lengthening shadows on the grass,
Are all frail joys of earth, the passion-flowers
That bind these bleeding brows and hearts of ours.
Yet tenderly fair memory, with soft rays,
Toucheth to life again these dear last days,
So sorrowful yet sweet!
More transient than the clouds that onward pass
And throw their lengthening shadows on the grass,
Are all frail joys of earth, the passion-flowers
That bind these bleeding brows and hearts of ours.
Yet tenderly fair memory, with soft rays,
Toucheth to life again these dear last days,
So sorrowful yet sweet!