 | Love-Songs |  |
47
A FAR-OFF HILL.
Ah, sweet, now you are gone, I see the days
We spent together, colourless before,
Flame with triumphant lustre more and more,
Till every street we threaded is a blaze
Of splendour, and the sad dust-stricken ways
Shine as a moon-enamoured silver shore;
My fancy brings each tone of yours of yore,
And every smile, into my weeping gaze.
We spent together, colourless before,
Flame with triumphant lustre more and more,
Till every street we threaded is a blaze
Of splendour, and the sad dust-stricken ways
Shine as a moon-enamoured silver shore;
My fancy brings each tone of yours of yore,
And every smile, into my weeping gaze.
It always is so: as a sun-kissed hill
Shines in the distance, girt about with fear
And mystery, whose beauty could not fill
The over-daring eye when we were near,
So gleams a far-off passion,—soft and still
And awful, and unutterably clear.
Shines in the distance, girt about with fear
And mystery, whose beauty could not fill
The over-daring eye when we were near,
So gleams a far-off passion,—soft and still
And awful, and unutterably clear.
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