UNSAID.
The last stray gleams of sunshine fade away
From the gray domes of far Mt. Hamilton,
While lighting the dim towers of San Jose,
Burns out the Autumn glory of the sun.
The guests pass from the door and through the gate,
The little gate with olive boughs o'erhead.
My friend sits thinking sadly as if Fate
Had dropped a few dead blossoms on her head;
A few dead orange blossoms sadly sweet,
That ne'er shall drop their fruitage at her feet.
From the gray domes of far Mt. Hamilton,
While lighting the dim towers of San Jose,
Burns out the Autumn glory of the sun.
The guests pass from the door and through the gate,
The little gate with olive boughs o'erhead.
My friend sits thinking sadly as if Fate
Had dropped a few dead blossoms on her head;
A few dead orange blossoms sadly sweet,
That ne'er shall drop their fruitage at her feet.
My friend moves restless as those who wait
Some white-winged vessel sailed, that ne'er returns;
The olives whisper "peace" above the gate,
The flaming sunset into ashes burns.
We wander out into the spacious grounds,
Where orange blossoms scent the silent weeks;
When softly, as the twilight's whispered sounds,
My dear friend pauses 'neath a palm and speaks,
And says with troubled voice and downcast head:
"The dearest word of all was left unsaid."
Some white-winged vessel sailed, that ne'er returns;
The olives whisper "peace" above the gate,
The flaming sunset into ashes burns.
We wander out into the spacious grounds,
Where orange blossoms scent the silent weeks;
When softly, as the twilight's whispered sounds,
My dear friend pauses 'neath a palm and speaks,
And says with troubled voice and downcast head:
"The dearest word of all was left unsaid."
Tell me, palm branches waving victory,
What power the guiltless evil can forgive;
The sad regret or restless agony,
That in one sweet, unspoken message live?
My California groves are full of song,
Full of glad thoughts and thrills of happiness.
Oh human hearts that bear no brand of wrong,
Oh loving lips that only speak to bless;
The dew-tears falling on your blossoms dead,
Are for the words forever left unsaid!
What power the guiltless evil can forgive;
The sad regret or restless agony,
That in one sweet, unspoken message live?
My California groves are full of song,
Full of glad thoughts and thrills of happiness.
Oh human hearts that bear no brand of wrong,
Oh loving lips that only speak to bless;
The dew-tears falling on your blossoms dead,
Are for the words forever left unsaid!
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