Dreams of a pot of rainbow gold --
Gold that we sought for, eager-eyed !

Dreams of the plans we made, that sleep
With the lesson books on the dusty rack,
Of the joyous years that will not come back --
That are drowned in the tears we have learned to
weep.
Ghosts did I call them! Sweet they are
As a plant that grows in a desert place,
Sweet as a dear remembered face --
Sweet as a pale, courageous star.

Where the sumac grows in a flaming wall,
It stands, at the end of a little lane,
And there do the children come again,
Answering, still, the bell's shrill call,
Just as we came, with their songs unsung,
And their hopes all new, and their dreams dew
kissed,
Brave as the sun in a land of mist --
JUST AS WE CAME WHEN THE WORLD WAS YOUNG!



THE OLD SAILOR

I've crossed the bar at last, mates,
My longest voyage is done;
And I can sit here, peaceful,