Poems (Linn)/Dead Years
DEAD YEARS.
I GRIEVE for the years that are no more, I The sweet young years ere I was born,When hills were white with flowers of May Or gold with harvest wealth of corn;Sunrise and sunset warm and redThat waxed and waned in years now dead.
I grieve for the years that are no more, The years that were ere I saw the light.What wonderful deeds were then to dare, What wars that needed noble might;Oh! loves that were so true and strongIn those old days of love and song.
I owe you a sacred debt, dead years, For the glorious treasure of to-day;The old-time battle and old-time pain To nobler living have led the way;Those passions and powers that raged of oldWere purging fires to try life's gold.
The early splendors of earth and sky; Unselfish living and noble fears;The upward reachings through dark and pain; Lives given to God in fire and tears;—None, none of these can I ever know,Yet I feel the life of the long ago.