Oracles, II

And yet, what of the sorrowing years, Their clouds and difficult event? Here is a kindlier way than tears, A fairer way than discontent: The passionate remembrances, That wake at bidding of the air: Fancies, and dreams, and fragrances, That charmed us, when they were.

So breathed the hay, so the rose bloomed, Ah! what a thousand years ago! So long imprisoned and entombed, Out of our hearts the old joys flow: Peace! present sorrows: lie you still! You shall not grow to memories: The ancient hours live yet, to kill The sorry hour, that is.