Poems (Linn)/Dead Years

by Edith Willis Linn

DEAD YEARS.

I GRIEVE for the years that are no more,
 I The sweet young years ere I was born,
When hills were white with flowers of May
 Or gold with harvest wealth of corn;
Sunrise and sunset warm and red
That waxed and waned in years now dead.

I grieve for the years that are no more,
 The years that were ere I saw the light.
What wonderful deeds were then to dare,
 What wars that needed noble might;
Oh! loves that were so true and strong
In those old days of love and song.

I owe you a sacred debt, dead years,
 For the glorious treasure of to-day;
The old-time battle and old-time pain
 To nobler living have led the way;
Those passions and powers that raged of old
Were purging fires to try life's gold.

The early splendors of earth and sky;
 Unselfish living and noble fears;
The upward reachings through dark and pain;
 Lives given to God in fire and tears;—
None, none of these can I ever know,
Yet I feel the life of the long ago.