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The Wall
- Author: Unknown
- Editor:
- Newspaper: The Umpire volume V
- Page Number:
- Date: 4 17 1918
- Tags:
- poetry
THE WALL
There’s such a tiny bit of blue, Within the wall; The sunbeam that comes stealing thru, Is oh! so small. A bird that flutters swiftly by, A wind that passes like a sigh, A cloudlet sailing, slow and high, Without the wall.
Without, there’s odors of the Spring, White lilies tall; And violet, and arbutus bring Their treasures all; To scatter them with lavish hand, By woodland way, and river strand; It is a green, and smiling land, Without the wall.
The autumn rains, the winter snows, Unheeded fall; But when the South wind wakes the Rose, What voices call? The white roads winding o’er the lea; The white sails fading out to sea; The far, blue hills are calling me, Without the wall.
Ah! would that it were but a dream, And that were all. To ’waken in the morning gleam, Without the wall. And know the Present all transformed; The Past, a memory to be mourned; The Future, as a bride adorned; Without the wall.
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- DOI 10.58117/2x7t-s726