 | Last poems including Afterglow and Beyond the sunset |  |
165
A CLASS POEM
Fair girls, with your sunlit faces
Turned to the morning skies,
With your lips attuned to laughter,
And the young light in your eyes,
What message shall I bring you
From the far Mount of Years?
Shall it be song or sermon?
A thing of smiles or tears?
Turned to the morning skies,
With your lips attuned to laughter,
And the young light in your eyes,
What message shall I bring you
From the far Mount of Years?
Shall it be song or sermon?
A thing of smiles or tears?
You know not yet what life is;
Its heart's-ease and its rue,
Its bitter-sweet and golden-rod
Have blossomed not for you.
You have but plucked the wild rose
Blooming beside the way,
And heard the thrushes' love song
Borne on the winds of May.
Its heart's-ease and its rue,
Its bitter-sweet and golden-rod
Have blossomed not for you.
You have but plucked the wild rose
Blooming beside the way,
And heard the thrushes' love song
Borne on the winds of May.
166
Ah, well I know the wonder
And the glory of it all,
And how your hearts are bounding
As at the trumpet's call!
I know your dreams and visions
Of the life that is to be—
The glamour of moon and starlight,
The magic of cloud and sea!
And the glory of it all,
And how your hearts are bounding
As at the trumpet's call!
I know your dreams and visions
Of the life that is to be—
The glamour of moon and starlight,
The magic of cloud and sea!
To dream is sweet. But sweeter,
Dear hearts, the awakening is;
I, who have dreamed and wakened,
I joy to tell you this.
Illusion's frail white blossom
May fade as climbs the sun,
But the same sun ripens fruitage
Fairer to look upon.
Dear hearts, the awakening is;
I, who have dreamed and wakened,
I joy to tell you this.
Illusion's frail white blossom
May fade as climbs the sun,
But the same sun ripens fruitage
Fairer to look upon.
For—Doing is better than Dreaming;
August is richer than June;
And the harvester's chant of labor
Is set to a nobler tune.
Yet—Being is better than Doing!
Hark! How the music swells
As the pageant of life sweeps onward
To the pealing of mighty bells!
August is richer than June;
And the harvester's chant of labor
Is set to a nobler tune.
167
Hark! How the music swells
As the pageant of life sweeps onward
To the pealing of mighty bells!
And when Endeavor is over,
As it must be, soon or late,
It is good to sit in the twilight
With folded hands and wait.
It is good to know that the sowing
And the reaping all are done,
And to learn that the star of evening
Shines clear as the rising sun!
As it must be, soon or late,
It is good to sit in the twilight
With folded hands and wait.
It is good to know that the sowing
And the reaping all are done,
And to learn that the star of evening
Shines clear as the rising sun!
Dana Hall, Wellesley, Mass., 1905.
| Last poems including Afterglow and Beyond the sunset | |