 | The Poems of A. C. Benson |  |
86
ANNIVERSARIES
When I was yet a child, my sparkling days
Spake little with each other, but with joy
Each sprang to life, by favourite friend or toy
Distinguished, walking in familiar ways;
Spake little with each other, but with joy
Each sprang to life, by favourite friend or toy
Distinguished, walking in familiar ways;
Each in itself a breathing mystery,
Portending nought, save through the lagging weeks,
In restless foot, in flushed and eager cheeks,
Savour and sound of the imagined sea.
Portending nought, save through the lagging weeks,
In restless foot, in flushed and eager cheeks,
Savour and sound of the imagined sea.
But now they talk together, and are sad;—
“To-day,” they say, “how short a time ago,
We laid her, weeping, in the churchyard ground:”
And one saith, “ere the solemn year move round,
Shall this be reft from me that makes me glad?”
And all make answer, saying, “Even so.”
“To-day,” they say, “how short a time ago,
We laid her, weeping, in the churchyard ground:”
And one saith, “ere the solemn year move round,
Shall this be reft from me that makes me glad?”
And all make answer, saying, “Even so.”
| The Poems of A. C. Benson | |