 | Jones Very : The Complete Poems |  |
212
The Distant
How far hast thou travelled? Though many thy years,
And many a day thou hast seen to its close;
Hast thou seen to their end all thy hopes and thy fears,
Or found where the sun has gone to repose?
And many a day thou hast seen to its close;
Hast thou seen to their end all thy hopes and thy fears,
Or found where the sun has gone to repose?
The still-growing leaf that thy door springs beside,
Hast thou seen whence it draws all its bright tints of green?
Or found where the rain or the swift wind can hide,
Or traced to their deep the cloud's colored screen?
Hast thou seen whence it draws all its bright tints of green?
Or found where the rain or the swift wind can hide,
Or traced to their deep the cloud's colored screen?
Nay, has thy sight followed the fire's warm heat
That burns on thy hearth on the cold winter's day?
Or gone with the flame to its hidden retreat
When thy lamp in the midnight shoots up its last ray?
That burns on thy hearth on the cold winter's day?
Or gone with the flame to its hidden retreat
When thy lamp in the midnight shoots up its last ray?
Thine eye is but dim if thou hast not found the home
Of these thy companions in journeying here;
Thy feet to the earth's farthest borders may roam,
Nor thou to the end of life's path be more near.
Of these thy companions in journeying here;
Thy feet to the earth's farthest borders may roam,
Nor thou to the end of life's path be more near.
Poem No. 184; late 1839—early 1840
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