THE LIMIT OF LANDS.

Between the circling ocean sea

And the poplars of Persephone

There lies a strip of barren sand,

Flecked with the sea's last spray, and strown

With waste leaves of the poplars, blown

From gardens of the shadow land.

With altars of old sacrifice

The shore is set, in mournful wise

The mists upon the ocean brood;

Between the water and the air

The clouds are born that float and fare

Between the water and the wood.

Upon the grey sea never sail

Of mortals passed within our hail,

Where the last weak waves faint and flow;

We heard within the poplar pale

The murmur of a doubtful wail

Of voices loved so long ago.

We scarce had care to die or live,

We had no honey cake to give,

No wine of sacrifice to shed;

There lies no new path over sea,

And now we know how faint they be,

The feasts and voices of the dead.

Ah, flowers and dance! ah, sun and snow!

Glad life, sad life we did forego

To dream of quietness and rest;

Ah, would the fleet sweet roses here

Poured light and perfume through the drear

Pale year, and wan land of the west.

Sad youth, that let the spring go by

Because the spring is swift to fly,

Sad youth, that feared to mourn or love,

Behold how sadder far is this,

To know that rest is nowise bliss,

And darkness is the end thereof.