Rendered white as snow now,
Do fresher glory-heights arise, and beckon higher—higher?
Are you dreaming, dreaming,
Is your soul still roaming,
Still gazing upward as we gazed, of old in the autumn gloaming?
But ah, that pale moon roaming
Thro’ fleecy mists of gloaming,
Furrowing with pearly edge the jewel-powder’d sky,
And ah, the days departed
With your friendship gentle-hearted,