Sunday, June 10, 2012


                                             Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean,
                                              Tears from the depth of some divine despair
                                                Rise in the heart and gather to the eyes,
                                                In looking on the happy Autumn-fields,
                                              And thinking of the days that are no more.

                                               Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail,
                                           That brings our friend up  from the underworld,
                                                Sad as the last which reddens over one
                                              That sinks with all we love below the verge;
                                              So sad, so fresh,  the days that are  no more.

                                           Ah, sad and strange as in the dark summer dawns
                                                 The earliest pipe of half-awakened birds
                                                    To dying ears, when unto dying eyes
                                             The casement slowly grows a glimmering square;
                                               So sad, so strange, the days that are no more.

                                                   Dear as remembered kisses after death,
                                               And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feigned 
                                                   On lips that are for others; deep as love,
                                                 Deep as first love, and wild with all  regret;
                                                 O, Death in life, the days that are no more!

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