OLD VERSES
I made a little funeral pyre,
And on it laid my youthful rhymes,
Those thoughts of innocent desire,
Dear foolish words of childhood times.
Poor things they were, misspelt and crude,
Yet void of guile or vain pretence,
They seemed like children thin and nude,
And unashamed through innocence.
And so, the while I struck the light
That should consume their humble bier
I kissed them, and as funeral rite
I mingled with the flame a tear.
ON THE ROAD TO TENNALEY TOWN
Maryland, U.S.A.
Over the hills to Tennaley Town,
When the leaves are red, and the leaves are brown,
Under a limpid sky!
Oh! it's good to be young to-day,
Strong, and young, on this lonely way,
Happy my thoughts and I!
Far below where the mists are blue
Runs the river, and damp with dew
Glimmers the golden corn,
Crickets sing in the wayside grass,
Beetles drone, as I pause and pass
On thro' the Autumn morn.
"Winter's coming," the winds have said,
Shall I weep for a time that's dead?
Foolish to weep, not I!
Over the hills near Tennaley Town,
When the leaves are red, and the leaves are brown,
I'm here, alive, walking swiftly down,
Then what matters the by and bye!