thirty-five.
177
Her half-way house of life is this:
She sees the road wind up from far;
From the soft dells of childhood's bliss,
Where twinkles home's remembered star.
She sees the road wind up from far;
From the soft dells of childhood's bliss,
Where twinkles home's remembered star.
She feels that glimmer, out of sight,—
A tender radiance of the past,
That drowned itself in deeper light;
A joy that Joy forbade to last.
A tender radiance of the past,
That drowned itself in deeper light;
A joy that Joy forbade to last.
O morn of Spring! O green, green fields!
Pressed by white feet of innocence!
The lilies that young verdure shields
Yet send a pure, faint sweetness thence.
Pressed by white feet of innocence!
The lilies that young verdure shields
Yet send a pure, faint sweetness thence.
Those lilies yet perfume her heart;
That morning lingers in her eye:
From God's first gifts she will not part,—
Half the sweet light she travels by.
That morning lingers in her eye:
From God's first gifts she will not part,—
Half the sweet light she travels by.
Yet think not she would wander back
For childhood pure or merrier youth.
A mist is on the fading track,
Here rounds the brightening orb of truth.
For childhood pure or merrier youth.
A mist is on the fading track,
Here rounds the brightening orb of truth.
