For speech of those they love, and whom no tidings reach.
I thank you. And now leave me, for I would be alone."
And there she sits so quiet in the light of the young moon,
While the flowers are dead, and the fruits are dead along with the young life
That someone sped to the depth of the last dim lagoon.
But only the priest in the fields of youth hears the requiem guns of strife.
And he knows that strife goes on and on, for ever on and on,
While the harps of the world shall play no more, nor any more shall bring
The maids and youths to laughter until that the end be won,
And the eyes of men grow young again, and the heart of the world can sing.