At length where stretched a princely street In long, receding splendor, Down which the golden sunshine threw A radiance warm and tender;
While far above us, frowning, hung A castle old and hoary, Stern on its battlemented heights Renowned in song and story;
And near us, throned in marble state, O’er time and death victorious, He sat, the magic of whose pen Made king and castle glorious—
There, face to face, once more we met, Like leaves in autumn weather, That blown afar by varying winds, Yet drift again together.
A look, a smile, and “Is it thou?” A little low, sweet laughter, Just one close clasp of meeting hands, And then, a moment after,
Between us swept the surging crowd And we were borne asunder. O, friend unknown, in what far land Will we next meet, I wonder?
THE BLIND BIRD’S NEST
“The nest of the blind bird is built by God.”—Turkish Proverb.
Thou who dost build the blind bird’s nest, Am I not blind? Each bird that flyeth east or west The track can find.
Each bird that flies from north to south Knows the far way; From mountain’s crest to river’s mouth It does not stray.