148 MYSTERIES:
Behold we would that hours and minutes pass,
Watch the sands falling in the eager glass ;
To wile their weariness is pleasure’s bliss ;
But ah! the years! like smoke They fade, alas!
We weep them as they slip away; we gaze
Back on the likeness of the former days—
The hair we fondle and the lips we kiss—
Roses grow yellow and no purple stays.
Ah! the old years! Come back, ye vanished hours
We wasted ; come, grow red, ye faded flowers!
What boots the weariness of olden time .
Now, when old age, a tempest-fury, lowers ?
Up to high God beyond the weary land
The days drift mournfully ; His hoary hand
Gathers them. Is itso? My foolish rhyme
Dreams they are links upon an endless band.
The planets draw in endless orbits round
The sun ; itself revolves in the profound
Deep wells of space; the comet’s mystic track
By the strong rule of a closed curve is bound.
Why not with time? To-morrow we may see
The circle ended—if to-morrow be— ,
And gaze on chaos, and a week bring back
Adam and Eve beneath the apple tree.