 | From the Hills of Dream |  |
32
A Summer Air.
O waving trees,
And waving wind,
And waving seas,
And waving mind—
Where, far and wide,
Am I to roam
To find my bride,
To reach my home?
And waving wind,
And waving seas,
And waving mind—
Where, far and wide,
Am I to roam
To find my bride,
To reach my home?
My soul is my bride:
Ah, whither fled?
She hath not died,
Nor am I dead:
But somehow, somewhere,
A song she heard,
And she flashed thro' the air
A sunfire bird.
Ah, whither fled?
She hath not died,
Nor am I dead:
But somehow, somewhere,
A song she heard,
And she flashed thro' the air
A sunfire bird.
My bride, she is
Where the rainbows are;
Sweet, sweet her kiss
Awaits afar:
My goal is where
The sea-waves meet
The Sands of Youth
Stirred by her feet.
Where the rainbows are;
Sweet, sweet her kiss
Awaits afar:
My goal is where
The sea-waves meet
The Sands of Youth
Stirred by her feet.
O waving leaves,
O waving grass,
My heart grieves
That it may not pass.
“Summer is fleet,
Summer is long,”—
I know not, Sweet,
'Tis an empty Song.
O waving grass,
My heart grieves
That it may not pass.
33
Summer is long,”—
I know not, Sweet,
'Tis an empty Song.
Where, far and wide,
Across what foam,
On what strange tide,
Shall I be come?
Meet me, O Bride,
Where, lost, I roam:
Leap to my side
And lead me home!
Across what foam,
On what strange tide,
Shall I be come?
Meet me, O Bride,
Where, lost, I roam:
Leap to my side
And lead me home!
| From the Hills of Dream | |