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NOBLE, JAMES ASHCROFT: A SUPREME HOUR.
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A SUPREME HOUR.

THE bounteous summer brings to me a day
Long waited for, long known in dim, sweet dreams :
Now 'tis a dream no more, and yet it seems
As if the hour and I were far away,
As if with soundless footfall I did stray
Through a strange land, whose sun sheds ghostly gleams
On misty hills, dusk valleys, sleeping streams,
And shapes with shadowy life, not sad nor gay.
'Tis ever thus in hours whose running sands
Each tell a joy new-born with every breath ;
The full soul pants to burst its being's bands,
And so, to seize the bliss that vanisheth,
Life stands on tip-toe, and her outstretched hands
Clasp the down-reaching hands of Sleep and Death.
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