 | Songs and ballads |  |
THE THREE CALLERS.
Morn calleth fondly to a fair boy straying
'Mid golden meadows, rich with clover dew;
She calls—but he still thinks of nought save playing;
And so she smiles—and waves him an Adieu!
Whilst he, still merry with his flowery store,
Deems not that Morn, sweet Morn, returns no more.
'Mid golden meadows, rich with clover dew;
She calls—but he still thinks of nought save playing;
And so she smiles—and waves him an Adieu!
Whilst he, still merry with his flowery store,
Deems not that Morn, sweet Morn, returns no more.
14
Noon cometh—but the boy, to manhood growing,
Heeds not the time—he sees but one sweet form,
One young fair face, from bower of jasmine glowing,
And all his loving heart with bliss is warm:
So Noon, unnoticed, seeks the western shore,
And man forgets that Noon returns no more.
Heeds not the time—he sees but one sweet form,
One young fair face, from bower of jasmine glowing,
And all his loving heart with bliss is warm:
So Noon, unnoticed, seeks the western shore,
And man forgets that Noon returns no more.
Night tappeth gently at a casement gleaming
With the thin fire light, flick'ring faint and low;
By which a grey-haired man is sadly dreaming
O'er pleasures gone—as all Life's pleasures go:
Night calls him to her—and he leaves his door,
Silent and dark; and he returns no more.
With the thin fire light, flick'ring faint and low;
By which a grey-haired man is sadly dreaming
O'er pleasures gone—as all Life's pleasures go:
Night calls him to her—and he leaves his door,
Silent and dark; and he returns no more.
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