est,
And a whisper of wings o'er the sea's bright breast,
And a cry where the moon's old miracle wakened
A glory of pearl o'er the pine-forest.

Why should they heed it? What should they know
Of the years to come or the years to go?
With the starry skies around and above them
And the roses whispering to and fro.

Ah, was it a song of the mystic morn
When into their beating hearts the thorn
Should pierce through the red wet crumpled roses
And all the sorrow of love be born?

Ah, was it a cry of the wild wayside
Whereby one day they must surely ride,
Out of the purple garden of passion
To Calvary, to be crucified?

Only the sound of the distant sea
Broke on the shores of Mystery,
And tolled as a bell might toll for sorrow
Till Time be tombed in Eternity;

And in their dreams they only heard
Far away, one secret bird
Sing, till the passionate purple twilight
Throbbed with the wonder of one sweet word:

One sweet word and the wonder awoke,
And the leaves and the flowers and the starlight spoke
In silent rapture the strange old secret
That none e'er knew till the death-dawn broke;

One sweet whisper, and hand in hand
They wandered in dreams through fairyland,
Rapt in the star-bright mystical music
Which only a child can understand.

But never a child in the world can tell
The wonderful tale he knows so well,
Though ever as old Time dies in the sunset
It tolls and tolls like a distant bell.

_Love, love, love_; and they hardly knew
The sense of the glory that round them grew;
But the world was a wide enchanted garden;
And the song, the song, the song rang true.

And they danced with the fairies in emerald rings
Arched by the light of their rainbow wings,
And they heard the wild green Harper striking
A starlight over the golden strings.

_Love, oh love_; and they roamed once more
Through a forest of flowers on a fairy shore,
And the sky was a wild bright laugh of wonder
And the West was a dream of the years of yore.

In other worlds I loved you, long ago:
Love that hath no beginning hath no end:
The heather whispers low and sweet and low,
In other worlds I loved you, long ago;
The meadows murmur and the firwoods know
The message that the kindling East shall send;