Songs of the Common Day, and Ave!

An Ode for the Shelley Centenary

by Charles G.D. Roberts


 

THE VALLEY OF THE WINDING WATER


 

THE valley of the winding water
     Wears the same light it wore of old.
Still o'er the purple peaks the portals
     Of distance and desire unfold.

Still break the fields of opening June

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     To emerald in their ancient way.
The sapphire of the summer heaven
     Is infinite, as yesterday.

My eyes are on the greening earth,
     The exultant bobolinks wild awing;

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And yet, of all this kindly gladness,
     My heart beholds not anything.

For in a still room far away,
     With mourners round her silent head,
Blind to the quenchless tears, the anguish—

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     I see, to-day, a woman dead.