  When the shadow is on the sundial Above the dear old garden door, And summer days once more now smile, As they so often have before. When morning light transforms to noon, And noon to the closing day, And brightest hours have passed so soon That we all would have wished to stay. When life has reached its eventide, And each ray is from the west, And sunbeams to the dial confide That the hour they’ve marked calls rest; Then I wander midst the flowers Until the gloaming ends the day, And the dew has soaked, like showers Which descend in glorious May. I pause before the door awhile, Watch the glimmering light depart, Note that darkness hides the sundial, Although great peace has filled my heart. T. G. W. H. |
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