An Interlude

Sighing she spoke, and leaning clasped her knees
' Well hast thou sung of living men and dead,
Of fair deeds done, and far lands visited.
Sing now of things more marvellous than these!
Of fruits ungathered on unplanted trees,

Of songs unsung, of gracious words unsaid,
Of that dim shore where no man's foot may tread
Of strangest skies, and unbeholden seas!
' Full many a golden web our longings spin,
And days are fair, and sleep is over-sweet;

But passing sweet those moments rare and fleet,
When red spring sunlight, tremulous and thin,
Makes quick the pulses with tumultuous beat
For meadows never won, or wandered in.'