Mute sorrow and great hardship have been ours,
Long journeyings and escapades in force—
But have we not beheld the poppy-flowers
Nodding in red confusion on our course?
Yea, we have crossed the woeful waste of sand,
Left sorrow far behind; and we have heard
The skylarks carolling in the Holy Land,
Where flower and tree commune with bee and bird.
“GERARDY.”
