And with us watched to see,
The soft, slow passing out of sight
Of that dark mystery.

* * * * *

We fear no more the lonely road
That winds around the hill;
Far from the busy world's highway
And the gods' slow-grinding mill;
It only seems a peaceful path,
Pleasant, and green, and still.




SEA-BORN

Afar in the turbulent city,
In a hive where men make gold,
He stood at his loom from dawn to dark,
While the passing years were told.

And when he knew it was summer-time
By the grey dust on the street,
By the lingering hours of daylight,
And the sultry noon-tide heat--

Oh! he longed as a captive sea-bird
To leave his cage and be free,