DAYS AND DAYS

The days that clothed white limbs with heat,

And rocked the red rose on their breast,

Have passed with amber-sandalled feet

Into the ruby-gated west.

These were the days that filled the heart

With overflowing riches of

Life; in whose soul no dream shall start

But hath its origin in love.

Now come the days gray-huddled in

The haze; whose foggy footsteps drip;

Who pin beneath a gipsy chin

The frosty marigold and hip.—

The days, whose forms fall shadowy

Athwart the heart; whose misty breath

Shapes saddest sweets of memory

Out of the bitterness of death.