Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean, Tears from the depth of some divine despair Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes, In looking on the happy autumn fields, And thinking of the days that are no more. Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail, That brings our friends up from the under world; Sad as the last which reddens over one That sinks with all we love below the verge, -- So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more. Ah, sad and strange as in dark summer dawns The earliest pipe of half-awakened birds To dying ears, when unto dying eyes The casement slowly grows a glimmering square; So sad, so strange, the days that are no more. Dear as remembered kisses after death, And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feigned On lips that are for others; deep as love, Deep as first love and wild with all regret, -- O Death in Life, the days that are no more. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A SONNET. ON CYNTHIA SICK by PHILIP AYRES THE SONG OF THE SAVOYARDS by HENRY AMES BLOOD TO THE RUSSIAN REVOLUTION by VALERY YAKOVLEVICH BRYUSOV IN LONDON ON SATURDAY NIGHT by ROBERT WILLIAMS BUCHANAN GLOOMY DECEMBER by ROBERT BURNS ULYSSES IN ITHACA by AMELIA JOSEPHINE BURR OBSERVATIONS IN THE ART OF ENGLISH POESY: 18. ELEGIAC VERSE: THE FIRST EPIGRAM by THOMAS CAMPION |