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In a valley late bees with whining gold
Thread summer to the loose ends of sleep....
"Summer, you are the eucharist of death;
Partake of you and never again
...
I come from haunts of coot and hern,
I make a sudden sally,
And sparkle out among the fern
To bicker down a valley.
And out again I curve and flow
To join the brimming river,
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on forever.
The voices of that hearth are still;
Look where we may, the wide earth o'er,
Those lighted faces smile no more.
These Flemish pictures of old days;
Sit with me by the homestead hearth,
...
Yet, haply, in some lull of life,
Some Truce of God which breaks its strife,
...
O Time and Change!--with hair as gray
As was my sire's that winter day,
...
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