FOR THE NEW YEAR.
The short noon weeps that the hours are fleet
And hide the steps of the sun's bright feet;
But the moon laughs low in the midnight sky,
For she sees the sun's face from her throne on high.
Behind the blank of the vapourous seas
Gleam still, as of old, the Hesperides.
The bloom of the rose-tree is withered and goes,
But a new flower sleeps in the root of the rose;
And spring shall come with a flute and a fire,
And wake new passion and old desire.
The scarlet poppies shall flame and pass
Out of the clusters of cool young grass;
The brook shall dance against warm green leaves
And the brown fields murmur with shocks and sheaves.
Out of the city that roars and cries
I send you a dream of delight of the eyes.
Out of the heart of the winter-time
I send you a leaf from the young year's prime.
Out of the toil and the trouble of night
I send you a song of the dawn's delight.
For all things die to arise again,
Save pain, and sorrow, the shadow of pain;
And beyond the reach of the rack and rod
There remaineth a rest for the people of God.
