Fourscore years and seven Light and dew from heaven Have fallen with dawn on these glad woods each day Since here was born, even here,
A birth more bright and dear Than ever a younger year Hath seen or shall till all these pass away, Even all the imperious pride of these,
The woodland ways majestic now with towers of trees. Love itself hath nought Touched of tenderest thought With holiest hallowing of memorial grace
For memory, blind with bliss, To love, to clasp, to kiss, So sweetly strange as this, The sense that here the sun first hailed her face,
A babe at Her glad mother's breast, And here again beholds it more beloved and blest. Love's own heart, a living Spring of strong thanksgiving,
Can bid no strength of welling song find way When all the soul would seek One word for joy to speak, And even its strength makes weak
The too strong yearning of the soul to say What may not be conceived or said While darkness makes division of the quick and dead. Haply, where the sun
Wanes, and death is none, The word known here of silence only, held Too dear for speech to wrong, May leap in living song
Forth, and the speech be strong As here the silence whence it yearned and welled From hearts whose utterance love sealed fast Till death perchance might give it grace to live at last.
Here we have our earth Yet, with all the mirth Of all the summers since the world began, All strengths of rest and strife
And love-lit love of life Where death has birth to wife, And where the sun speaks, and is heard of man: Yea, half the sun's bright speech is heard,
And like the sea the soul of man gives back his word. Earth's enkindled heart Bears benignant part In the ardent heaven's auroral pride of prime:
If ever home on earth Were found of heaven's grace worth So God-beloved a birth As here makes bright the fostering face of time,
Here, heaven bears witness, might such grace Fall fragrant as the dewfall on that brightening face. Here, for mine and me, All that eyes may see
Hath more than all the wide world else of good, All nature else of fair: Here as none otherwhere Heaven is the circling air,
Heaven is the homestead, heaven the wold, the wood: The fragrance with the shadow spread From broadening wings of cedars breathes of dawn's bright bed. Once a dawn rose here
More divine and dear, Rose on a birth-bed brighter far than dawn's, Whence all the summer grew Sweet as when earth was new
And pure as Eden's dew: And yet its light lives on these lustrous lawns, Clings round these wildwood ways, and cleaves To the aisles of shadow and sun that wind unweaves and weaves.
Thoughts that smile and weep, Dreams that hallow sleep, Brood in the branching shadows of the trees, Tall trees at agelong rest
Wherein the centuries nest, Whence, blest as these are blest, We part, and part not from delight in these; Whose comfort, sleeping as awake,
We bear about within us as when first it spake. Comfort as of song Grown with time more strong, Made perfect and prophetic as the sea,
Whose message, when it lies Far off our hungering eyes, Within us prophesies Of life not ours, yet ours as theirs may be
Whose souls far off us shine and sing As ere they sprang back sunward, swift as fire might spring. All this oldworld pleasance Hails a hallowing presence,
And thrills with sense of more than summer near, And lifts toward heaven more high The song-surpassing cry Of rapture that July
Lives, for her love who makes it loveliest here; For joy that she who here first drew The breath of life she gave me breathes it here anew. Never birthday born
Highest in height of morn Whereout the star looks forth that leads the sun Shone higher in love's account, Still seeing the mid noon mount
From the eager dayspring's fount Each year more lustrous, each like all in one; Whose light around us and above We could not see so lovely save by grace of love.
Cookies on Poetry Cove