 | The poetical works of Edward Rowland Sill |  |
III
1
Mornings were there, richer than of Eastern story,When the dark, wet trunks the sun-bathed elms uphold,
Bedded in the leaves whose lustrous glory
Half was sheen of emeralds, half of lucent gold.
2
Evenings when the sun set, like a king departedUnto other lands with revel, pomp, and light,
While the queenly moon, deserted, pale, proud-hearted,
Paces the still corridors of the stars all night.
3
Hours of golden noonday, when the blood up-leapingLike a soft, swift lightning pulses through the veins;
Hours of shrouded midnight, when the soul unsleeping
Calm self-knowledge, wider trust, and patience gains.
4
Friendships truer than all woman's brittle passion,Love that in its fullness, even while we stand
Here, to part, has only stammering expression,
Dumb and half-embarrassed clinging hand to hand.
| The poetical works of Edward Rowland Sill | |