Page:The poems of Richard Watson Gilder, Gilder, 1908.djvu/286

258 So every mournful thought found there a tone

To match despondence; sorrow knew its mate;

Ill fortune sighed, and mute despair made moan;

And one deep chord gave answer, "Late,—too late."

Then ceased the quivering strain, and swift returned

Into its depths the secret of each heart;

Each face took on its mask, where lately burned

A spirit charmed to sight by music's art;

But unto one who caught that inner flame

No face of all can ever seem the same.

THE VALLEY ROAD

this road have past

Hope and Joy adance;

And one at dark fled fast,

Quick breath, and look askance;

And in this dust have dropt

Tears that never stopt.

Childhood, caught by flowers,

Cannot choose but dally;

Slowly through the hours

Age creeps down the valley;

Only Youth goes swift—

Eager, and head alift.

Summer, and the night,

Calm and cloudless moon,

And lo! a path of light!

Heaven would come too soon

To lovers wandering slowly

Through the starlight holy.