Happy Days

A fringe of rushes—one green line Upon a faded plain; A silver streak of water-shine— Above, tree-watchers twain. It was our resting-place awhile, And still, with backward gaze, We say: "'Tis many a weary mile— But there were happy days." And shall no ripple break the sand Upon our farther way? Or reedy ranks all knee-deep stand? Or leafy tree-tops sway? The gold of dawn is surely met In sunset's lavish blaze; And—in horizons hidden yet— There shall be happy days.