Through the valleys, softly creeping <br />‘Mid the tree-tops, tempest-tossed, <br />see the cloud-forms seeking, peeping <br />For the loved ones that are lost. <br />Not for storm or sunshine resting, <br />Will they slacken or desist, <br />Or grow weary in their questing <br />For the children of the mist. <br /> <br />Where are those children hiding? <br />Surely they will soon return, <br />In the gorge again abiding <br />‘Mid the myrtle and the fern. <br />Ah! the dusky forms departed <br />Nevermore will keep their tryst, <br />And the clouds, alone, sad-hearted, <br />mourn the Children of the Mist. <br /> <br />E’en the wild bush-creatures, scattered, <br />Ere they die renew their race, <br />And the pine, by levin shattered, <br />Leaves an heir to take his place. <br />Though each forest thing, forth stealing, <br />Year by year the clouds have kissed, <br />Vainly are those white arms feeling <br />For the children of the mist. <br /> <br />Dead the race, beyond awaking, <br />Ere its task was well begun; <br />Human hearts that throbbed to breaking <br />Are but dust beneath the sun. <br />Past all dreams of vengeance-wreaking, <br />Blown where’er the tempests list. <br /> <br />. . . . . . . . <br /> <br />But the cloud-forms still are seeking <br />For the children of the mist.<br /><br />John Sandes<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-children-of-the-mist-2/
