Passion Flowers (Watson)/In Distant Arcadie
That longing for the pure and high,
That homesick sense of something lost—
A something far beyond the cost
Of all the paltry things this life
May offer, though its realm be rife
With prideful gifts? Alas! the soul
Craves ever, spurning all life's dole,
Its distant Arcadie.
In Distant Arcadie.
I gaze upon the far, far light
That glorifies the fragrant night,
Where still and calm, serene and high,
The moon drifts in an azure sky.
And o'er my soul, so wistful grown,
There steals the thought, each is alone—
Alone in longings undefined,
Which float upon the sensuous wind
From distant Arcadie.
That glorifies the fragrant night,
Where still and calm, serene and high,
The moon drifts in an azure sky.
And o'er my soul, so wistful grown,
There steals the thought, each is alone—
Alone in longings undefined,
Which float upon the sensuous wind
From distant Arcadie.
I hear the far, far swish of waves
That rock and roll o'er silent graves,
And in their tone I catch the faint
Sad echo of a nameless plaint—
While slowly steals, elusive, sweet,
With dim suggestions, soaring, fleet,
A thought of care-free, joyous days,
When life began in flowered ways,
Of primal Arcadie.
Who has not known that yearning cry,That rock and roll o'er silent graves,
And in their tone I catch the faint
Sad echo of a nameless plaint—
While slowly steals, elusive, sweet,
With dim suggestions, soaring, fleet,
A thought of care-free, joyous days,
When life began in flowered ways,
Of primal Arcadie.
That longing for the pure and high,
That homesick sense of something lost—
A something far beyond the cost
Of all the paltry things this life
May offer, though its realm be rife
With prideful gifts? Alas! the soul
Craves ever, spurning all life's dole,
Its distant Arcadie.