Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). An American Anthology, 1787–1900. 1900.
By Edward RowlandSill782 Force
T
They do not tell;
And morn brings a message
Hidden well.
A tint on the wing,
And the bright wind whistles,
And the pulses sting.
There ’s light ahead;
This world’s for the living,
Not for the dead.
On the loud pave,
The life-tide is running
Like a leaping wave.
As noon draws near!
No room for loiterers,
No time for fear.
Earth smiles as well;
Gold-crusted grain-fields,
With sweet, warm smell;
Like a giant bee;
Like a Titan cricket,
Thrilling with glee.
Pavement or plain;
On azure mountain,
Or azure main,—
Lost is but won;
Goes the good rain-cloud,
Comes the good sun:
And sick men wail,
And faint hearts and feeble hearts,
And weaklings fail.
Let the boat swing;
There was never winter
But brought the spring.