Poems (Procter)/Echoes

by Adelaide Anne Procter

For works with similar titles, see Echoes.

ECHOES.

TILL the angel stars are shining
 Still the rippling waters flow
But the angel-voice is silent
 That I head so long ago.
 Hark! the echoes murmur low,
          Long ago!

Still the wood is dim and lonely,
 Still the plashing fountains play,
But the past and all its beauty,
 Whither has it fled away?
 Hark! the mournful echoes say,
          Fled away!

Still the bird of night complaineth,
 (Now, indeed, her song is pain,)
Visions of my happy hours,
 Do I call and call in vain?
 Hark! the echoes cry again,
          All in vain!

Cease, O echoes, mournful echoes!
 Once I loved your voices well;
Now my heart is sick and weary.—
 Days of old, a long farewell!
 Hark! the echoes sad and dreary
          Cry farewell, farewell!