 | The poetical works of Edward Rowland Sill |  |
I.
1
Four years!Four waves of that wide sea which rings the world
Broken upon the shore, eternity.
Upon whose crests, like waifs tossed by the tide,
We neared, touched, floated side by side, and now
Sad is their murmur on the shadowy sand,
And sad our parting as we drift away.
2
Four years!Fled like the phantoms of a morning dream—
A strange, fair dream, and now the sun has risen,
And the day's work begun. Yet blame us not
If, while we gird ourselves, we linger still
Wistfully musing over what we dreamed.
| The poetical works of Edward Rowland Sill | |