Sweet memories sleep in seasons,

That bloom and fade away.

No golden flight or quivering grief,

No agelessness of day.

 

On colors deep there yearns the bells,

Thronging note by note.

Sat undisturbed the impossible,

On rune or magic wrote.

 

And would could not with ease to bring,

Those unaccustomed things.

Nor beat back the lonesome night,

The traveler’s twilight dreams.

 

In piercing wonder violets be,

I pray the tips might come.

The voices pure, of ringing words,

No power in the one.

 

There does sorrow float from here,

Eternal, calming sea.

Of mystery, madness, something strange,

Of laughter’s pure beauty.

 

And so is often come with men,

Who sit alone just now.

The dark sorrow of mortal being,

Behind the lonesome plow.

 

But turn your eyes and come with me,

Beyond the fields of age.

To see again before the sun,

The ancient watchful sage.

 

In silence lay the wondering notes,

That only few ears can here.

The rainbow wonder found in thee,

Springs from unbroken tears.

 

Blow now, Blow now strong the wind,

The stars struck out their quest.

Of quiet, fragile happenings,

Of nights perpetual rest.