Memories

The flush of sunset dies
Far on ancestral trees:
On the bright-booted bees:
On cattle-dotting leas!

And a mist is in my eyes —
For in a stranger land
Halts the quick-running sand,
Shaken by no dear hand!

How plain is the flowering gi
The sunset-flooded door;
I hear the river's roar
Say clearly "Nevermore."

I see the cloud-shadows pass
Over my mountain meres;
Gone are the rose-bright years:
Drowned in a sea of tears.