THE LAST HOUR.
MY thoughts arc like the breaking waves For sadness and for multitude, And slowly, not to be withstood. My dead desires rise from their graves. 0 joys of love, and joys of fame, It is not you I shall regret! I sadden but lest I forget The beauty woven, in Earth's name. The shout and battle of the gale. The stillness of the sun rising. The sound of some deep-hidden spring, The glad sob of the filling sail. The first green ripple of the wheat. The rain-song of the lifted leaves. The waking lirds beneath the eaves. The voices of the summer heat. If I be laid where hind and fawn And wild things of the woodland meet. Shall I not hear the small, light feet Of hares in dew-wet grass at dawn? 1 have no dread of what.shall be, And I repent not nor regret, Only I fear lest I forget The joy, that earth has given me. —JS.O.
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Bibliographic details
New Zealand Herald, Volume XXXVII, Issue 11541, 28 November 1900, Page 3
Word Count
163THE LAST HOUR. New Zealand Herald, Volume XXXVII, Issue 11541, 28 November 1900, Page 3
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