Scribner's magazine . AN OLD SORROIV 745 Till the spaces are filled with the tall-plumed ferns and the triumphing forest-weeds ;The thick wild raspberries hem its walls, and, stretching on either hand,The red-ribbed stems and the giant-leaves of the sovereign spikenard lonely and silent it is, so withered and warped with the sun and snow,You would think it the fruit of some dead mans toil a hundred years ago ;And he who finds it suddenly there, as he wanders far and touched with a sweet and beautiful sense of something tender and gone,The sense of a struggling life in the was
Scribner's magazine . AN OLD SORROIV 745 Till the spaces are filled with the tall-plumed ferns and the triumphing forest-weeds ;The thick wild raspberries hem its walls, and, stretching on either hand,The red-ribbed stems and the giant-leaves of the sovereign spikenard lonely and silent it is, so withered and warped with the sun and snow,You would think it the fruit of some dead mans toil a hundred years ago ;And he who finds it suddenly there, as he wanders far and touched with a sweet and beautiful sense of something tender and gone,The sense of a struggling life in the waste, and the mark of a souls going and coming of vanished feet, the touch of a human AN OLD SORROW By Dorothea Liimmis Where shall I hide, my grief and I,Until this pageant has passed by?How can I bear the coming tenderness in everything? How watch the willows, pale and warm and brighten all the world ?How see the suns long lover kissBurn on the purple fleur de l^^s ? Endure the morning prophesiesAnd evening triumphs of the skies,While smouldering longing and desireBlaze with the seasons subtle fire? How live and laugh and linger here,In this gold glowing atmosphere,When thou who so loved it and meArt mute in deaths blind mystery.
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1800, bookdecade1880, bookpublishernewyo, bookyear1887
