The poem herewith presented was first published some ten years ago in a volume entitled Days and Dreams. The original verses have been re-written throughout and extensively added to, making it comparatively a new poem.
And though they're that which they are,
What are the thoughts they have brought?
Stars and the moon; and they roll
Over our way that is white.
Here shall we end the long stroll?
Here shall I kiss you good-night?
Or, for a while, soul to soul,
Linger and dream of delight?
_They enter the garden again.... She, somewhat pensively._
Myths tell of walls and cities that arose
To melody. But I would build with tone,
Had I that harp, a world for us alone,
A world of love, and joy, and deep repose.
A land of lavender light, of blue-bell skies;
Pale peaks that rise against the gold of eve;
And on one height, the splendors never leave,
Our castled home o'er which the wild swan flies.
There, pitiless, the ruined hand of death
Should never reach. No bud, no thing should fade;
All should be perfect, pure, and unafraid;
And life serener than an angel's breath.
The days should move to music; wildly tame
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