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117
XXIV. LOVE'S LAND.
How old and weary are we till we meet!
Then love with laughter and with joyous speech
Gathers the boyish pebbles on the beach
And every primrose is past praising sweet.
What soft airs gladden us,—what swift thoughts beat
Along our hearts that were so faint and sore;
And now we hear the old waves' mellow roar
And tread beside them with fresh vigorous feet.
Then love with laughter and with joyous speech
Gathers the boyish pebbles on the beach
And every primrose is past praising sweet.
What soft airs gladden us,—what swift thoughts beat
Along our hearts that were so faint and sore;
And now we hear the old waves' mellow roar
And tread beside them with fresh vigorous feet.
So sweet it was! the night fell round our eyes
With tenderest touching, as of woman's hand,
And folded us in depths of dark-blue skies,
And the dear waves plashed softly on the strand,
And dreamy words passed into dreamier sighs,
And only sweetest love possessed the land.
With tenderest touching, as of woman's hand,
And folded us in depths of dark-blue skies,
And the dear waves plashed softly on the strand,
And dreamy words passed into dreamier sighs,
And only sweetest love possessed the land.
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