Poems (Eckley)/A Walk in the Cascine
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WALK on dead and withered leaves—
On dead leaves brown and sere,
The worn and tattered garments of
Another dying year.
And as I tread their brittle forms,
Can I profane the thought
That speaks to me from dying leaves,
Of life at best but naught?
A WALK IN THE CASCINE.
(FLORENCE.)To H. B. S.
WALK on dead and withered leaves—On dead leaves brown and sere,
The worn and tattered garments of
Another dying year.
And as I tread their brittle forms,
Can I profane the thought
That speaks to me from dying leaves,
Of life at best but naught?
In thought I tread the shadowy Past,
Hear the retreating tread
Die away in the distance far,
Another year that's fled.
Too late to catch at her garments,
Stirring the wintry air,
Wafting pale retrospection of
Another vanished year!
Hear the retreating tread
Die away in the distance far,
Another year that's fled.
Too late to catch at her garments,
Stirring the wintry air,
Wafting pale retrospection of
Another vanished year!
The great clock, Time, has struck the hour
In Eternity's vast hall,
Too late to set the hours back—
"Too late!" I hear it call.
Not too late to redeem the time,
As new-born hours ring,
Ready to meet the new year bold,
For higher flights to wing;
In Eternity's vast hall,
Too late to set the hours back—
"Too late!" I hear it call.
Not too late to redeem the time,
As new-born hours ring,
Ready to meet the new year bold,
For higher flights to wing;
For fresh resolves, for nobler aims,
O may this new year be
The best, the happiest of our lives,
Life through Eternity.
O may this new year be
The best, the happiest of our lives,
Life through Eternity.