Page:Leaves on the tide and other poems.djvu/174

152 Four-and-twenty kings to come

Up the never-vacant stair,—

Four-and-twenty dead go down;

Follow, sacred song and prayer.

Wind again, wind again,—

Warden, why delaying there?

To his interrupted dream

Comes the long-entreated day.

What are lesser words to him?

Sweet pursuing voices say,—

"Warden, wind, wind again,

Up the ever-golden way."

Other hands will wind the clock

While the frequent years go on,

Never noting need or name

Nor the rapture of the dawn.

Wind again, wind again,

Ere the given year be gone.

than a bird's song

When we look for snow,—

Sweeter than a brook's song

When the brook is low,—

Is her voice.