That vanishing loveliness,
That burdening breath,
No bond of life hath then,
Nor grief of death.
That vanishing loveliness,
That burdening breath,
No bond of life hath then,
Nor grief of death.
Too late for fruit, too soon for flowers.
All day long the door of the sub-conscious remains just ajar; we slip through to the other side, and return again, as easily and secretly as a cat.
Naught but vast sorrow was there - The sweet cheat gone.
Nay, nay, sweet England, do not grieve!
A lost but happy dream may shed its light upon our waking hours, and the whole day may be infected with the gloom of a dreary or sorrowful one; yet of neither may we be able to recover a trace.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories