And many, many years ago,
Under the first December snow;
With white hands folded on her breast,
They laid our little May to rest;
One golden summer, only one,
And birds, and flowers, and May were gone.
But where the robins came to sing,
Loving the sun in the new spring;
By hill-sides where the violets grow,
A long, sunshiny, quiet way;
To school I led our little May,
Oh! many, many years ago.
[HESPERUS.]
Thrice welcome, gentle star
Companion of the cheerless, evermore
Like pearly bark on blue waves floating far
Last from some lovely shore.
The poet loveth thee,
And wins from thee those thoughts so pure and high
That gem the rosy heaven of poesy,
As thou dost gem the sky.
And woman holds thee dear;
By trysting tree—in cot, or lordly hall,
She knows thou weav'st some spell, at day-light's fall,
To bring the loved one near.
The faithful deem thee fair;
And when thy white rays down the dusk air fall,
On each pure beam ascends a silent prayer
To Him who loveth all.
Yet art thou all my own;
And, when the gray and crimson kindly blend,
I watch beside the casement, quite alone,
The coming of my friend.