  What shall we do, dearie, Dreaming such dreams? Will they come true, dearie? Never, it seems. Leave the wise thrush alone; He knows such things. How rich the silences Fall when he sings! Into that land Once was our home, dearie, Perfect as planned? When the wind calling us, Some summer day, Into the long ago Lures us away. Where shall we go, dearie, Wandering thus? Far to and fro, dearie, Life leads for us. Hillward and free, I to the vast and hoar Lone of the sea. 1886-1893. |
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