Flower o' the thorn A book of wayside verse: By John Payne |
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HOMING DREAMS. |
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 | Flower o' the thorn |  |
HOMING DREAMS.
LIKE homing doves you hail me, with the West Wind in your voices
And the shimmer of the setting in your world-bewildered eyes:
My dreams, I sent you forth to try and tell me what Life's choice is,
And back with wind in hand you come and voices full of sighs.
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My dreams, I sent you forth to try and tell me what Life's choice is,
And back with wind in hand you come and voices full of sighs.
I sent you forth at morning-time, when all the East was glowing
And the sun of youth was radiant on the ripples of your way:
You were young and glad and golden, when you girt you for the going,
And now in your returning you are old and grave and grey.
And the sun of youth was radiant on the ripples of your way:
You were young and glad and golden, when you girt you for the going,
And now in your returning you are old and grave and grey.
And yet, though by the wayside you have shed your youthful graces,
I would not have you wander in the loveless world alone.
Frail children of my youth, there's room within my heart's high places,
There's room for you to rest with me by Eld's sepulchral stone.
I would not have you wander in the loveless world alone.
Frail children of my youth, there's room within my heart's high places,
There's room for you to rest with me by Eld's sepulchral stone.
So welcome, empty-handed though you come back from your questing,
Though bowed you are and broken as the waning of the wave,
Like wayworn birds that turn them to their ancient place of nesting,
Come back, my dreams, and die with me upon my last hope's grave!
Though bowed you are and broken as the waning of the wave,
Like wayworn birds that turn them to their ancient place of nesting,
Come back, my dreams, and die with me upon my last hope's grave!
| Flower o' the thorn | |