Mine eyes, my brain, my heart, are sad,--
sad is the very core of me;
All wearies, changes, passes, ends;
alas! the Birthday's injury!

Friends of my youth, a last adieu!
haply some day we meet again;
Yet ne'er the self-same men shall meet;
the years shall make us other men:

The light of morn has grown to noon,
has paled with eve, and now farewell!
Go, vanish from my Life as dies
the tinkling of the Camel's bell.



II


In these drear wastes of sea-born land,
these wilds where none may dwell but He,
What visionary Pasts revive,
what process of the Years we see:

Gazing beyond the thin blue line
that rims the far horizon-ring,
Our sadden'd sight why haunt these ghosts,
whence do these spectral shadows spring?