Maurice Thompson

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So short the time, and yet it seems so long,
Since last I saw thee, O my beautiful!
The very thought is resonant with song,
And wraps my spirit in a tender lull.

I count the hours till I shall come again:
Each moment seems a little rose of time;
Each gust of wind thrills gently with a strain
Of soft, bewildering melody and rhyme.

There comes a perfume from the sunset land,
And from the sunset vapor comes a voice;
Some one in evening's gateway seems to stand,
And o'er a flood of glory shout, "Rejoice!"

I seem to look through all the lapsing years,
And see my path wind through a holy land,
While wondrous as the music of the spheres
Is the soft murmur of Time's golden sand.

I see my springs go by, a golden train;
I see my summers with their corn and wines;
I see my autumns come and come again,
And roar my winters through the windy pines!

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