Oh! my valley of shade and dreams! Golden lights 'mid the distant blu… Sun that pauses to kiss the dew, Dew that trembles beneath its beam… Fain were I but a bird above,

At the early break of day, When the river mists grow pink. And the moon begins to sink, Down along the southern way ; When the gold mimosa tree

The day our dead are laid to rest We heap the earth upon their breas… Upon the earth we set a stone. And then we leave them all alone. Some folks they weep, and some the…

Along the hills the olives grow. And almonds bloom in early Spring… And many are the streams that flow… And countless are the birds that s… The air is cool with distant snow,

A road disused these many years, O’er which the grass has grown Between two rows of silent pines, That stretch in straight, unbroken… Away to plains unknown.

I turn’d to you, the sky was amber… Blue haze and flaming bracken stre… In undulating mystery to the day, Reclining that the evening might b… And hide her softly 'neath his sta…

I saw a row of hollyhocks, Demure and stately-tall, They peep’d above a hedge of box, Like maidens in brocaded frocks, Who nodded one and all.

What so dead as my love for you, What so terribly dead! Lay it low ‘neath the grass and de… Bury it deep in an earthy bed, Then put a tombstone over its head

Oh! that the night were passed, an… Made lovely by the joy of spring, Would flood these sombre clouds wi… Oh! that some hopeful bird would s… And in his tiny feathered throat

Through the rustling river grasses Warm and sweet the young wind pass… Blowing shyly soft caresses To their dewy emerald tresses. All along the silver sands

Oh! golden is the gorse-bush. Beneath an April sky, The lark is full of singing, The clouds are white and high ; But my love, my love is faithless.

Come, put yer little hand in mine. And let it be at rest. It minds me of a tired bird Within a warm brown nest ; And bend that pretty head o’ your’…

High above a waveless sea, On the hills of long ago. There you lived awhile with me. And we loved—I know. For your hair I made a crown,

The hillside green with bracken. And the red plough land, The brownish hurrying rivers, Where the willows stand. The thickets and the meadows.

What is the end of all sweet thing… Of these dawns and twilights and g… Of the rose that climbs, and the s… Of the breeze that sighs, and the… Dust and ashes and death?