THE DAYS go by—the days go by, <br />Sadly and wearily to die: <br /> Each with its burden of small cares, <br /> Each with its sad gift of gray hairs <br />For those who sit, like me, and sigh, <br />“The days go by! The days go by!” <br />Ah, nevermore on shining plumes, <br />Shedding a rain of rare perfumes <br /> That men call memories, they are borne <br /> As in life’s many-visioned morn, <br />When Love sang in the myrtle-blooms— <br />Ah, nevermore on shining plumes! <br /> <br />Where is my life? Where is my life? <br />The morning of my youth was rife <br /> With promise of a golden day. <br /> Where have my hopes gone? Where are they— <br />The passion and the splendid strife? <br />Where is my life? Where is my life? <br /> <br />My thoughts take hue from this wild day, <br />And, like the skies, are ashen gray; <br /> The sharp rain, falling constantly, <br /> Lashes with whips of steel the sea: <br />What words are left for Hope to say? <br />My thoughts take hue from this wild day. <br /> <br />I dreamt—my life is all a dream!— <br />That I should sing a song supreme <br /> To gladden all sad eyes that weep, <br /> And take the Harp to Time, and sweep <br />Its chords to some eternal theme. <br />I dreamt—my life is all a dream. <br /> <br />The world is very old and wan— <br />The sun that once so brightly shone <br /> Is now as pale as the pale moon. <br /> I would that Death came swift and soon; <br />For all my dreams are dead and gone. <br />The world is very old and wan. <br /> <br />. . . . . <br />The world is young, the world is strong, <br />But I in dreams have wandered long. <br /> God lives. What can Death do to me <br /> The sun is shining on the sea. <br />Yet shall I sing my splendid song— <br />The world is young, the world is strong.<br /><br />Victor James Daley<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-days-go-by/
