O days, when every flower was fair, When every birdling's song was sweet, Come from the portals of the past With dainty, silver-sandaled feet! Come back, and let your sunlight fall In rosy flocks and golden beams: O, give us back the happy hours That only visit us in dreams! Our flowers lie dead in winter's arms— Their silent bells no more will chime: Our hopes and trusts and vain regrets Lie dead within the arms of Time; The gloomy sky, in sad, grey drifts, The misery of earth reveals; The pallid countenance portrays The pain and grief the heart conceals. And as a pale shroud robes the earth In spotless folds of gleaming white, And as our shattered dreams of joy Are slowly buried out of sight, We ask our hearts: "And is this all For which the springtide laughed and sang? Must every bloom of earth and life Be buried thus, without a pang?" "Nay," says a struggling sunbeam's smile; "Nay," says the autumn's magic wand: "The blossoms of both earth and heart Are safely held within one Hand; And when 'tis best for you and me, A breath divine, breathed on our flowers, Will waken them to bloom once more Through happy, golden summer hours." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE LONELY DEATH by ADELAIDE CRAPSEY THE BRITISH CHURCH by GEORGE HERBERT TRAVEL by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY INVITATION by MATILDA BARBARA BETHAM-EDWARDS PSALM 22. DEUS DEUS MEUS by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE |