Page:The Man with the Hoe, Markham, 1900.djvu/92

Rh The wonder went from the field of corn,

The glory died on the craggy horn;

And suddenly all was strange and gray,

And the rocks came out on the trodden way.

I hear no more the wild thrush sing:

He is silent now on the peach aswing.

Something is gone from the house of mirth—

Something is gone from the hills of Earth.

Time hurries me on with a wizard hand;

He turns the Earth to a homeless land;

He stays my life with a stingy breath,

And darkens its depths with foreknowledge of death;

Calls memories back on their path apace;

Sends desperate thoughts to the soul's dim place.

Time murders our youth with his sorrow and sin,

And pushes us on to the windowless inn.

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