THE GOLDEN BOWL
On seeing a picture of a boy gazing at a golden bowl which among Eastern nations was a symbol of life.
In a dream he seems to lie
Gazing at the golden bowl,
Where dim visions passing by
Whisper vaguely to his soul.
Restless phantoms come and go
Crowned with cypress or with bay;
Sad or merry, swift or slow,
Tread they down the winding way.
Still the pageant winds along,—
Youth and age and love and lust,
Till at last the motley throng
Fades and crumbles into dust.
All in vain upon the bowl
Gaze the wondering, boyish eyes;
He shall read its hidden scroll
Only when it shattered lies.
For a wondrous light shall gleam
From the scattered fragments born.
Boy, dream on, for life's a dream,
Followed by a golden morn.
ON A SWISS MOUNTAIN
Lad, the mighty hills are calling,
Hills of promise gleaming bright,
And the floods of sunshine falling
Fill their deepest vales with light.