Oh, the evening vales, the twilight vales,
Where he labors and sweats to the thud of flails,
Singing a song of the toil that avails,
In the fruitful autumn weather;
In heart and in soul as free from fears
As the first white star in the sky that clears,
While the music of life and of love he hears,
Of life and of love together.
AFTERWORD.
What vague traditions do the golden eves.
What legends do the dawns
Inscribe in fire on Heaven's azure leaves,
The red sun colophons?
What ancient Stories do the waters verse?
What tales of war and love
Do winds within the Earth's vast house rehearse,
God's stars stand guard above?—
Would I could know them as they are expressed
In hue and melody!
And say, in words, the beauties they suggest.
Language their mystery!
And in one song magnificently rise,
The music of the spheres,
That more than marble should immortalize
My name in after years.