  Past midnight! Vastly overhead A wash of stars—the town’s asleep! And through the pine trees of the dead The rising winds of morning creep. Dim, mid the hillside’s shadow grass I count the marble slabs. How vain My throbbing life that waits to pass Into the great world on the train! The city’s vision fades from mind. I only see the hill and sky; And on the mist that rides the wind A tottering pageant meets my eye. The cock crows faintly, far away; A troop of age and grief appears. Ye shadows of a distant day. What do ye, pioneers? There shines the engine’s comet light. Ye shadows of a century set, Haste to the hillside and the night— I am not of you yet! |
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