And often, glad no more, We wear a face of joy because We have been glad of yore.
And often, glad no more, We wear a face of joy because We have been glad of yore.
Alas how little can a moment show Of an eye where feeling plays In ten thousand dewy rays A face o'er which a thousand shadows go.
The stars of midnight shall be dear To her and she shall lean her ear In many a secret place Where rivulets dance their wayward round, And beauty born of murmuring sound Shall pass into her face.
Thou unassuming common-place; Of Nature, with that homely face.
Where the statue stood Of Newton, with his prism and silent face, The marble index of a mind forever Voyaging through strange seas of thought alone.
As if the man had fixed his face, In many a solitary place, Against the wind and open sky.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories