As by the dead we love to sit –
Become so wondrous dear –
As for the lost we grapple
Tho′ all the rest are here –
In broken mathematics
We estimate our prize
Vast – in it′s fading ratio
To our penurious eyes!
New feet within my garden go –
New fingers stir the sod –
A Troubador opon the Elm
Betrays the solitude.
New Children play opon the green –
New Weary sleep below –
And still the pensive Spring returns –
And still the punctual snow!
New fingers stir the sod –
A Troubador opon the Elm
Betrays the solitude.
New Children play opon the green –
New Weary sleep below –
And still the pensive Spring returns –
And still the punctual snow!
I hide myself within my flower
That wearing on your breast –
You – unsuspecting, weare me too –
And angels know the rest!