Had little time to think of one
Who stood from all the strife apart,
And so, alike in rain and sun,
Kept to their tasks with loyal heart;
While he among them came and went,
Approving still their bold intent,
But too half-hearted to begin
The life that lives, the deeds that win.
Time sped, and on a New Year's night,
When all the stars were sprinkling light
In showers of radiant golden rain
Upon the wheeling world again,
And mists, like scarfs of pearl, were laid
Upon the mountains' armor-braid,
The dreamer, by his lonely fire,
Grew mournful over thoughts of home,
And wondered that a vain desire
Had ever led his steps to roam.
"But life is full of waste and folly,
Away with weary melancholy!"
He cried, and filled the glass whose rays
Are crimson with the art that slays,
And drank to all things good and fair,
To happy, happy other days,
Dim vanishing down Memory's stair.
Who stood from all the strife apart,
And so, alike in rain and sun,
Kept to their tasks with loyal heart;
While he among them came and went,
Approving still their bold intent,
But too half-hearted to begin
The life that lives, the deeds that win.
Time sped, and on a New Year's night,
When all the stars were sprinkling light
In showers of radiant golden rain
Upon the wheeling world again,
And mists, like scarfs of pearl, were laid
Upon the mountains' armor-braid,
The dreamer, by his lonely fire,
Grew mournful over thoughts of home,
And wondered that a vain desire
Had ever led his steps to roam.
"But life is full of waste and folly,
Away with weary melancholy!"
He cried, and filled the glass whose rays
Are crimson with the art that slays,
And drank to all things good and fair,
To happy, happy other days,
Dim vanishing down Memory's stair.
Once on a listless summer day
A hapless owl became hi prey
As, gun in hand, in idle mood,
He loitered in the shady wood.
This bird, alive, and passing well,
A hapless owl became hi prey
As, gun in hand, in idle mood,
He loitered in the shady wood.
This bird, alive, and passing well,
