  This is earth’s liberty-day: Yonder the linden-trees sway To music of winds from the west, And I hear the old merry refrain, Of the stream that has broken its chain By the gates of the City of Rest, The City whose exquisite towers I see thro’ the sunny long hours If but from my window I lean; Yea, dearest! thy threshold of stone, Thine ivy-grown door and my own Have naught save the river between. Thine on that heavenly height Are beauty, and warmth, and delight; And long as our parting shall be, Live there in thy summer! nor know How near lie the frost and the snow On hearts that are breaking for thee. |
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