With never a smile. of forgiving,
Come thronging when pleading in vain.
Come thronging when pleading in vain.
***
And yet I have conquered the dragon,
The spectres Plutonian have flown,
And the horror enshrined in the flagon
Has left me in freedom—alone!
The spectres Plutonian have flown,
And the horror enshrined in the flagon
Has left me in freedom—alone!
To garnish the tombs of the perished,
The dead singing songs of the dead,
Of all the bright dreams that I cherished
This only is left me instead.
The dead singing songs of the dead,
Of all the bright dreams that I cherished
This only is left me instead.
But lo, in this pathway of duty,
To the past, I, at least, can be true,
And the mists that bedream it with beauty
Some long withered flow'r may renew.
To the past, I, at least, can be true,
And the mists that bedream it with beauty
Some long withered flow'r may renew.
THE OLD NEWSPAPER
The past rolled back like a rainbowed vapor,
As you read again the old newspaper,
Found to-day
In the must and dust of the garret's lumber,
Where the spiders weave their dreams of slumber
And still decay.
As you read again the old newspaper,
Found to-day
In the must and dust of the garret's lumber,
Where the spiders weave their dreams of slumber
And still decay.
Faded, and frayed, and dearly olden,
Its thoughts are sainted, its speech is golden,
Prose and rhyme;
Its thoughts are sainted, its speech is golden,
Prose and rhyme;
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