 | By Severn Sea and Other Poems |  |
63
THE GOLDEN AGE
Ay me! ay me! how sweetWith eyes of yearning far behind us cast,
Tired eyes atingle with the bitter blast,
Tired eyes and sore with all the glare and heat
That doth so fiercely beat
On our poor brows who wage
Here in the blinding dust and sharp turmoil
Hard warfare, wearying strife,
And live our workday life
Of unremitting toil
In this our iron age,
How sweet, how glad to turn us to the past,
How glad, how sweet to gaze
With yearning eyes far backward cast,
On those fair seasons of the world's first dawn,
And scenes so far withdrawn,
64
Lit with a rich yet tempered light,
Till our outwearied sight
Be comforted feasting on the green of grass,
And violet gray of sky,
And waters hyaline,
And vistas softly lucent wherein pass
Fair forms of men and women by,
And shadowy ampler shapes than these, divine!
| By Severn Sea and Other Poems | |