Journeying, in long serenity, away.
In such a bright, late quiet, would that I
Might wear out life like thee, 'mid bowers and brooks,
And, dearer yet, the sunshine of kind looks,
And music of kind voices ever nigh;
And when my last sand twinkled in the glass
Pass silently from men, as thou dost pass.
William C. Bryant.
NOVEMBER.
A SONNET.