O the winds of time sweep the lonely years Like withered leaves down the path of night, And their notes, like a dirge, sound in our ears As our eyes are strained for a glimpse of light. And our sad heart utters a voiceless prayer - Whence do ye come - ye bitter winds, Where do ye go - O where? Through the swarming suns where the Zodiac’s blaze Fades out in the awful deeps of space, As you hurry us on your unknown ways, Shall our feet leave never a trace? Rushed from the light to the silent dark, Tell us, tell us, O mocking winds Is there a voice - O hark! And the wondrous things we planned to do In those far off days when our hearts were young. But the task was long and the hours were few And the songs we dreamed of are still unsung. Will our hopes fade out when the light is gone? Whisper, whisper, O pitiless winds, Is there another dawn? Where are the friends that we used to know? Like the fallen leaves gone one by one. And the scenes that we loved in the long ago Faint shadows still in the setting sun. They have gone - we go - for the wild winds rave - “The path that ye tread in silent dread Leads on to an open grave!” But those voices hushed, they linger yet Like the haunting chords of a lost refrain. And those scenes we can see with a sweet regret Though their outlines are blurred they still remain Shall they live - those things - in our groping brain, Like the ocean’s surge in an empty shell Nor live elsewhere again? TO AN AGED WILLOW Ancient willow, drooping low Gnarled old trunk and withered bough. Though they say you’re dying now I can never have it so. Massive limbs against the sky Wrestling with the winds of heaven, E’en the thunder crashing levin Like old Ajax you defy. Where your mournful branches bend Countless birds their nests have made Woodland songsters unafraid. You, old willow, were their friend. And you sheltered me as well, Often in the summer’s heat Idly musing at your feet I have felt your soothing spell. Rustling softly through the leaves Pendulous to every air, Peace and solace everywhere Dripped like raindrops from the eaves. And the white clouds floating by Bore me to the shores of dreams - Blissful yet the memory seems - Loved companion, must you die? No cathedral’s gloomy nave Or cold monument for me, Rather let me have a tree As a marker for my grave. And the Land of Yet-to-Be Where sun risen glories play, May it see you clothed some day In immortal greenery. [Illustration] THE OLD WOODS ROAD