Others are floating through the dreamy air,
White as the falling snow, their margins tinged
With gold and crimson hues; their shadows fall
Upon the flowery meads and sunny slopes,
Soft as the shadow of an angel’s wing.
When the rough battle of the day is done,
And evening’s peace falls gently on the heart,
I bound away, across the noisy years,
Unto the utmost verge of memory’s land,
Where earth and sky in dreamy distance meet,