Page:Hephaestus, Persephone at Enna, and Sappho in Leucadia.djvu/33

 :Where Summer once hung low above our hands
 * And we, as children, dreamed to dreaming waves,
 * And all the world seemed made for you and me.


 * It is too late; for now the wine of life
 * Is spilt, the shore-lark of first love has flown,
 * And all the Summer waned.
 * Yet, long ago,
 * How lightly I had passed through any pain,—
 * How gladly I had gone to any home,
 * A wanderer with you o’er many seas;
 * And slept beside your little fire content,
 * And fared still on again between green hills
 * And echoing valleys where the eagled pines
 * Were full of gloom, and many waters sang,—
 * Still on to some low plain and highland coign
 * Remembered not of men, where we had made
 * Our home amid the music of the hills,
 * Letting life’s twilight sands glide thro’ the glass
 * So golden-slow, so glad, no plaintive chime
 * Could e’er be blown across autumnal eves
 * From Life’s gray towers of many-tongued Regret:
 * Then I had been most happy at your side,
 * Easing this aching heart with homely thoughts
 * And turning these sad hands to simple things.
 * In the low oven that should gleam by night
 * Baking my wheaten loaves, and with my wheel
 * Spinning the milky wool, and light of heart
 * Dipping my brazen pitcher in the spring