  Deep thought that comes through stainless skies; Pure moods that arch the fancy’s birth; Sweet sorrow, clear in youthful eyes; Soft laughter, speaking maiden mirth;— Such gifts were thine, ere time o’ercast The sunshine of thy tender heart; And now that joy itself is past Yet patience still will do its part. Sad stars from which the sun has drawn The light of life, no longer bright; Life of our lives, that with the dawn Passed, though remembered, from our sight! From noonday stept the chilling shade That struck the quivering aspens still; Thou hopeful one, thou unafraid, Smiled—but the Shadow had his will. Souls of our youth which tire and sleep And wake to find the hour is sped! Thou scorn which mocks us if we weep! Thou hope which says “Be comforted!” Thou vision dulled, whose tutored eye Sees but in vain the poplar tree As once upblown against the sky, When we were fain, when we were free. |
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