There rolls the deep where grew the tree. O earth, what changes hast thou seen! There where the long street roars, hath been The stillness of the central sea. The hills are shadows, and they flow From form to form, and nothing stands; They melt like mist, the solid lands, Like clouds they shape themselves and go.

From yon blue heaven above us bent, The grand old gardener and his wife Smile at the claims of long descent.

I envy not in any moods The captive void of noble rage, The linnet born within the cage, That never knew the summer woods.

Faith is believing what we cannot prove.

The year is dying in the night.

In the long years liker they must grow; The man be more of woman, she of man.

Dear as remembered kisses after death, And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feign'd On lips that are for others; deep as love, Deep as first love, and wild with all regret; O Death in Life, the days that are no more!