 | The poems of Edmund Clarence Stedman |  |
THE SUN-DIAL.
“Horas non numero nisi serenas”
Only the sunny hours
Are numbered here,—
No winter-time that lowers,
No twilight drear.
But from a golden sky
When sunbeams fall,
Though the bright moments fly,—
They 're counted all.
Are numbered here,—
No winter-time that lowers,
No twilight drear.
But from a golden sky
When sunbeams fall,
Though the bright moments fly,—
They 're counted all.
My heart its transient woe
Remembers not!
The ills of long ago
Are half forgot;
But Childhood's round of bliss,
Youth's tender thrill,
Hope's whisper, Love's first kiss,—
They haunt me still!
Remembers not!
The ills of long ago
Are half forgot;
But Childhood's round of bliss,
Youth's tender thrill,
Hope's whisper, Love's first kiss,—
They haunt me still!
Sorrows are everywhere,
Joys—all too few!
Have we not had our share
Of pleasure too?
No Past the glad heart cowers,
No memories dark;
Only the sunny hours
The dial mark.
Joys—all too few!
379
Of pleasure too?
No Past the glad heart cowers,
No memories dark;
Only the sunny hours
The dial mark.
| The poems of Edmund Clarence Stedman | |