The Last Eve Of Summer

Summer's last sun nigh unto setting shines     Through yon columnar pines,     And on the deepening shadows of the lawn     Its golden lines are drawn.     Dreaming of long gone summer days like this,     Feeling the wind's soft kiss,     Grateful and glad that failing ear and sight     Have still their old delight,     I sit alone, and watch the warm, sweet day     Lapse tenderly away;     And, wistful, with a feeling of forecast,     I ask, "Is this the last?     "Will nevermore for me the seasons run     Their round, and will the sun     Of ardent summers yet to come forget     For me to rise and set?"     Thou shouldst be here, or I should be with thee     Wherever thou mayst be,     Lips mute, hands clasped, in silences of speech     Each answering unto each.     For this still hour, this sense of mystery far     Beyond the evening star,     No words outworn suffice on lip or scroll:     The soul would fain with soul     Wait, while these few swift-passing days fulfil     The wise-disposing Will,     And, in the evening as at morning, trust     The All-Merciful and Just.     The solemn joy that soul-communion feels     Immortal life reveals;     And human love, its prophecy and sign,     Interprets love divine.     Come then, in thought, if that alone may be,     O friend! and bring with thee     Thy calm assurance of transcendent Spheres     And the Eternal Years