Dark with a beautiful
Distant dream;
And still she plays,
Sings tenderly
To him of hope,
And of memory.




ALONE


A very old woman
Lives in yon house.
The squeak of the cricket,
The stir of the mouse,
Are all she knows
Of the earth and us.

Once she was young,
Would dance and play,
Like many another
Young popinjay;
And run to her mother
At dusk of day.

And colours bright
She delighted in;
The fiddle to hear,