Broad bars of sunset-slanted gold
  Are laid along the field, and here
The silence sings, as if some old
  Refrain, that once rang long and clear,
  Came softly, stealing to the ear
Without the aid of sound. The rill
  Is voiceless, and the grass...

’t Is but a little faded flower,
  But oh, how fondly dear!
’T will bring me back one golden hour,
  Through many a weary year.
I may not to the world impart
  The secret of its power,
But treasured in my inmost heart,
  I keep my faded...