• 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.