The dying day sinks down in languishment.

And in those last faint breaths as ’twere in sooth

The halo of some saint, a glowing light

Of purest gold streams through the darkened sky,

A light more wondrous than the dawn of youth—

For ’tis a flame cleft out the veil of night

From that eternal dawn that ne’er can die!

Tristesse

If you were not away

These trees, this south-wind and this dreary day

Would all be mad with joyous ecstasy;

But you are gone, so mourning they with me

Find bitter-sweet in idle fantasy.

How glad, how mad, how gay,

If you were not away!

Interlude

Sometimes from out the rush of pulsing days,

These days whose poetry was lost in prose

So long ago, left desolate on those

Far childhood paths—yet, sometimes from the haze

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