by Peter Austen
There was a day, when insolently gay,
I laughed unto the strumming of guitars.
There was a night, I wove in some brave way
A necklace of the stars.
There was a day!
Remembering, I sit at evening,
And hear the endless sound of falling tears;
And, thro' the days, another song I sing,
Remembering these years-
Remembering! Alas, how shall I fling
My arms out, out to greet the rising suns?
How shall I hear the birds, and see the Spring?
Remembering Dead Ones-
Peter Austen, 1919