134
Another Voice.
But the soft sky stoops down to touch, And kiss the weeds that hideEach ruined gap, where the wind has sung, But oftener still has sighed.
Aye! ruins draped in shadows drear, Like ghosts of evil thought,Which haunt the fields of memory, And come when least they're sought.
But 'tis not always drear and sad, Nor always dim, the way;Oft there's a rent where God looks down On this world's evening grey.
