I.

 

Thou bearest us halfway to lasting rest:

Thy path runs long, thy day nigh infinite.

A meadow in the hills is where I stay,

With beating head, and smells of flowers about.

Some age ago you left me in this place;

And now am I content I am in it,

Somewhere between the lands of life and death.

 

II.

 

Shy foxes slink, and hide within the ground.

This passage of the sun’s both slow and fast.

Some ages hence, a heavy dusk shall fall,

And flowers, hills, and silence be forgot.

No more this field, once tucked beneath night’s pall,

No creatures sneaking in the withered grass,

For thought and heart to something dark are bound.

 

III.

 

Oh bide long with me – though I seek thee not,

As when I seek thee, often dost thou flee.

In soft and soundless place I’ll lie alone,

For there, in timeless spot, with soundless breath,

Some glimm’ring of eternity I’ve stol’n:

Some secret golden fruit within a tree,

That with my lasting life is cheaply bought.