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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=533798" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Years Ago</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">THE old dead flowers of bygone summers,<br> The old sweet songs that are no more sung,<br>The rose-red dawns that were welcome comers<br> When you and I and the world were young, <br>Are lost, O love, to the light for ever,<br> And seen no more of the moon or sun,<br>For seas divide, and the seasons sever,<br> And twain are we that of old were one. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">O fair lost love, when the ship went sailing<br> Across the seas in the years agone,<br>And seaward-set were the eyes unquailing,<br> And landward-looking the faces wan, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">My heart went back as a dove goes homeward<br> With wings aweary to seek its nest,<br>While fierce sea-eagles are flying foamward<br> And storm-winds whiten the surge’s crest; </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And far inland for a farewell pardon<br> Flew on and on, while the ship went South—<br>The rose was red in the red-rose garden,<br> And red the rose of your laughing mouth. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">But no word came on the wind in token<br> Of love that lasts till the end; and so<br>My heart returned to me bruised and broken,<br> From you, my love, of the long ago. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The green fields seemed in the distance growing<br> To silken squares on a weaver’s loom,<br>As oversea came the land-wind blowing<br> The faint sweet scent of the clover bloom. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">A rarer odour to me it carried,<br> In subtle delicate way to tell<br>Of you, ere you and the world were married—<br> The lilac-odour you loved so well. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Again, I saw you beneath the blooms of<br> Those lilac-trees in the garden old.<br>Ah me! each tree is a mark for tombs of<br> Dead dreams and memories still and cold. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And Death comes there with his breath scent-laden,<br> And gathering gently the blossoms shed<br>(In guise of Autumn, the brown-browed maiden)<br> With your and my dead buries his dead. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">O, fairer far than the fair ideal<br> Of him who imaged the foam-born Queen<br>In foam-white marble—a dream made real—<br> To me were you in those years, I ween. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Your lips were redder than night-shade berries<br> That burn in borders of hedgerowed lanes,<br>And sweeter far than the sweet wild cherries<br> The June sun flushes with crimson stains. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And gray your eyes as a gray dove’s wings were—<br> A gray soft-shadowing deeps profound,<br>Where thoughts that reached to the heart of things were,<br> And love lay dreaming though seeming drowned. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Twin-tulip-breasted like her the tread of<br> Whose feet made music in Paphos fair,<br>The world to me was not worth a thread of<br> Your brown, ambrosial, braided hair. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Mayhap you loved me at one time truly,<br> And I was jealous, and you were proud;<br>But mine the love of the king in Thule,<br> Till death; and yours—sleeps well in shroud. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">So night came down like a sombre raven,<br> And southward ever the ship was borne,<br>Till glad green fields and lessening haven<br> Grew faint and faded like ghosts at morn. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">As fields of Heaven eternal blooming,<br> Those flowerful fields of my mother-land<br>In midnight visions are still perfuming<br> All wild waste places and seas of sand. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And still in seasons of storm and thunder,<br> In strange lands under your land and mine,<br>And though our ways have been wide asunder,<br> In calm and tempest and shade and shine </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Your face I see as I saw the last time—<br> As one borne space-ward on wings of light,<br>With eyes turned back to a sight of past time,<br> Beholds for ever that self-same sight. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">But scorn has died on your lips, and through you<br> Shines out star-bright an immortal grace,<br>As though God then to His heaven drew you,<br> And sent an angel to take your place. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I plucked one rose from the tree you cherished,<br> My heart’s blood ebbing has kept it red,<br>And all my hopes with its scent have perished;<br> Why mourn them now—are the dead not dead? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And yet, God knows, as this rose I kiss, you<br> May feel the kisses across the sea;<br>And soul to soul for the larger issue<br> Your soul may stand with the soul of me, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Unknown to you—for the strings of Being<br> Are not so easily snapped or torn;<br>And we may journey with eyes unseeing<br> On paths that meet in the years unborn. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Farewell, dear heart. Warm sighs may sever<br> Ripe lips of love like a rose-leaf curled,<br>But you remain unto me for ever<br> The one fair woman in all the world.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Victor+James+Daley">Victor James Daley</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=533798" data-title="Years Ago de Victor James Daley" data-description="THE old dead flowers of bygone summers,
 The old sweet songs that are no more sung,
The rose-red dawns that were welcome comers
 When you and I and the world were young, 
Are lost, O love, to the light for ever,
 And seen no more of the moon or su..."></div>
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