Along the Lane

When twilight comes along the bowered lane,

I hear a distant song, its low refrain

As evanescent in the vales of time

As rays of sunlight striving through the rain.

I see a wraith of beauty moving there,

A faded flower in her streaming hair.

Then she has vanished in the tide of dreams

And gentle hands have touched my old despair.

Too soon I see the destinies append

This paradox of every journey's end;

The shadow has more sinew than the flesh,

The echoes all the sounds of earth transcend.

(First published in Along the Lane: Dedicated to the memory of Thomas William Larsen, who lost his life in World War II)