The way was footless up the steep Where thousands once had bled, Nor was there now halt age to weep Youth long since dead, But silence, with the clouds for bed, Our Lady of Tours. The trees fall gold, and stretch gaunt limbs, And grow again in green; All seasons hearken to the hymns By mankind seen In harvests none shall ever glean, Our Lady of Tours. Over the trees the clouds are high, Over the clouds the sun. The dreams of youth have drifted by, One after one, And the days of dreaming are done, Our Lady of Tours. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOKEN AT A CASTLE GATE by DONALD (GRADY) DAVIDSON CLEAR AND COLDER; BOSTON COMMON by ROBERT FROST THE SEMANTICS OF FLOWERS ON MEMORIAL DAY by BOB HICOK LET ME NOT HATE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON SONNET TO THOSE WHO SEE BUT DARKLY by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON |