IV
The year is lapsing into time
Along a deep and songless gloom,
Unchapleted of leaf or bloom.
And mute between the dusk and prime
The diligent earth resets her loom,—
The year is lapsing into time
Along a deep and songless gloom.
While o’er the snows the seasons chime
Their golden hopes to reillume
The brief eclipse about the tomb,
The year is lapsing into time
Along a deep and songless gloom
Unchapleted of leaf or bloom.
V
Not wise as cunning scholars are,
With curious words upon your tongue,
Are you for whom my song is sung.
But you are wise of cloud and star,
And winds and boughs all blossom-hung,
Not wise as cunning scholars are,
With curious words upon your tongue.
Surely, clear child of earth, some far
Dim Dryad-haunted groves among,
Your lips to lips of knowledge clung—
Not wise as cunning scholars are,
With curious words upon your tongue,
Are you for whom my song is sung.