Tears.idle tears,i know what they mean,
tears from the depth of some divine despair
rise in the heart,and gather to the eyes,
in looking on the happy autumn-fields,
and thinking of the days that are nomore.
Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail,
that brings our friends up from the underworld,
sad as the last which raddens over one
that sinks with all we love below the verge;
so sad,so fresh,the days that are no more.
Ah,sad and strange as in dark summer dawns
the earliest pipe of half-awakened birds
to dying ears,when unto dying eyes
the casement slowly grows a glimmering square;
so sad and strange,the days that are no more.
Dear as remmemberd kisses after death,
and sweet as those by hopeless fancy feigned
on lips that are for others;deep as love,
deep as first love,and wild with all regret;
O death in life,the days that are no more!