The world rolls round on its westward way;
The gleam of the beautiful night up yonder
Is dim on the dreamer’s cheek all day;
The old earth’s voice is a sound of weeping,
Round her the waters wash wild and vast,
There is no calm, there is little sleeping,—
Yet nightly, brightly, thou glimmerest past!
Another summer, new dreams departed,
And yet we are lingering, thou and I;
I on the earth, with my hope proud-hearted,