She ’s somewhere in the sunlight strong, Her tears are in the falling rain, She calls me in the wind’s soft song, And with the flowers she comes again. Yon bird is but her messenger, The moon is but her silver car; Yea! sun and moon are sent by her, And every wistful waiting star.
She ’s somewhere in the sunlight strong, Her tears are in the falling rain, She calls me in the wind’s soft song, And with the flowers she comes again. Yon bird is but her messenger, The moon is but her silver car; Yea! sun and moon are sent by her, And every wistful waiting star.
To the Happy Dead People WHAT of the darkness? Is it very fair? Are there great calms? and find we silence there? Like soft-shut lilies, all your faces glow With some strange peace our faces never know, With some strange faith our faces never dare,— Dwells it in Darkness? Do you find it there?...
