Page:Poems, Savage, 1882.djvu/48

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42 LIFE

And now the path with weeds is grown, The singing birds are fled: In each house sitteth one alone; The happy past is dead. 

            OUTER AND INNER

I MAY not saunter in the sun As when the days were long, While Summer's thousand voices run Through all the scale of song. I may not lounge upon the bank Where smooth the brook gleams by, And gaze down where the sunlight sank As deep as is the sky. I may not whisper with the breeze Upon the lush, sweet grass, And, dreaming, watch the shadowy trees Backward and forward pass. I may not build upon the clouds Grenada castles fair, Where bright-haired visions troop in crowds As high and pure as air.

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