Poems (Chandler)/The Country of If
HERE is not much, indeed, that I can say
Since "If" was the sole country of our dreams,
And at its gate one stood to bar the way
To that glad land, those silver-shining streams.
THE COUNTRY OF "IF."
HERE is not much, indeed, that I can saySince "If" was the sole country of our dreams,
And at its gate one stood to bar the way
To that glad land, those silver-shining streams.
I know, dear Heart, how fair that country is,—
Its rivers flow through meadows green and still,
Its skies bend lovingly o'er lovers' bliss,
No cold winds blow there, and no winters chill.
Its rivers flow through meadows green and still,
Its skies bend lovingly o'er lovers' bliss,
No cold winds blow there, and no winters chill.
There would we fain have wandered, thou and I,—
But the strong Angel met us at its gate:
He heeded not Love's prayer or Passion's cry,—
"Oh, fools and mad," he said, "you come too late."
But the strong Angel met us at its gate:
He heeded not Love's prayer or Passion's cry,—
"Oh, fools and mad," he said, "you come too late."