 | [Poems by Cary in] The poems of Alice and Phoebe Cary |  |
OUT BY THE WATERS.
The hedges of roses and islands of gold
Have floated and faded away from the sky,
And I long, as their vanishing glow I behold,
For a home where the beautiful never shall die:
Have floated and faded away from the sky,
And I long, as their vanishing glow I behold,
For a home where the beautiful never shall die:
For a home, where the children of sorrow shall cease
To mourn over dreams that are broken and gone;
Where the wings of the soul may be folded in peace
By the rivers that always flow shiningly on!
To mourn over dreams that are broken and gone;
Where the wings of the soul may be folded in peace
By the rivers that always flow shiningly on!
288
I'm sitting alone in a deep bosomed vale,
On a bank of fresh moss that hangs over a rill;
And catching at times, from the wings of the gale
The laughter of children at play on the hill.
On a bank of fresh moss that hangs over a rill;
And catching at times, from the wings of the gale
The laughter of children at play on the hill.
For the wandering spirit of beauty is back
With fragrance and verdure for hill-top and tree,
Leaving sunshine and blossoms, and birds on her track,
And filling the young heart with innocent glee.
With fragrance and verdure for hill-top and tree,
Leaving sunshine and blossoms, and birds on her track,
And filling the young heart with innocent glee.
I forget the dark lessons of history's page
In listening to footsteps so careless and light:
I forget the deep plottings of manhood and age—
Their scorning of weakness, and trampling of right:
In listening to footsteps so careless and light:
I forget the deep plottings of manhood and age—
Their scorning of weakness, and trampling of right:
There 's a cloud on the moon! but the light is so sweet,
('T is one of the Spring-time's most beautiful eves)
I can tell every blossom that lies at my feet,
And the birds that are up o'er my head in the leaves.
('T is one of the Spring-time's most beautiful eves)
I can tell every blossom that lies at my feet,
And the birds that are up o'er my head in the leaves.
Oh I love to be out by the waters at night
As they trip to the sea on the bright-tinted sands:
And deem their glad billows are children of light
With songs on their lips and the stars in their hands.
As they trip to the sea on the bright-tinted sands:
And deem their glad billows are children of light
With songs on their lips and the stars in their hands.
| [Poems by Cary in] The poems of Alice and Phoebe Cary | |