FROM these wild rocks I look to-day <br />O'er leagues of dancing waves, and see <br />The far, low coast-line stretch away <br />To where our river meets the sea. <br /> <br />The light wind blowing off the land <br />Is burdened with old voices; through <br />Shut eyes I see how lip and hand <br />The greeting of old days renew. <br /> <br />O friends whose hearts still keep their prime, <br />Whose bright example warms and cheers, <br />Ye teach us how to smile at Time, <br />And set to music all his years! <br /> <br />I thank you for sweet summer days, <br />For pleasant memories lingering long, <br />For joyful meetings, fond delays, <br />And ties of friendship woven strong. <br /> <br />As for the last time, side by side, <br />You tread the paths familiar grown, <br />I reach across the severing tide, <br />And blend my farewells with your own. <br /> <br />Make room, O river of our home! <br />For other feet in place of ours, <br />And in the summers yet to come, <br />Make glad another Feast of Flowers! <br /> <br />Hold in thy mirror, calm and deep, <br />The pleasant pictures thou hast seen; <br />Forget thy lovers not, but keep <br />Our memory like thy laurels green.<br /><br />John Greenleaf Whittier<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-laurels/
