Monday
They drift away- Ah God! they drift for ever!
I watch the stream sweep onward to the sea
Like some old battered buoy upon a roaring river,
Round whom the tide-waifs hang- then drift to sea.
I watch them drift-the old familiar faces
Who fished and rode with me by stream and wold,
Till ghosts, not men, fill old beloved places,
And, ah! the land is rank with churchyard mould.
I watch them drift- the youthful aspirations
Shores, landmarks, beacons, drift alike!...
Yet overhead the boundless arch of heaven
Still fades to night, still blazes into day...
Ah God! My God! Thou wilt not drift away.
Kingsley
No comments:
Post a Comment