sweet at the height of day
Is the buzz of the wingèd things,
But sweeter at day's poppy-droop
The tranquil that it brings.
ever in the noon of life
The spirit is oppressed,
And only at life's eventide
The spirit findeth rest.
and Joy are the things that fly,
And Love and Hope and Fears;
But Love and Joy are there alone
At the closing of the years.
through the heat of the bright noonday
Into the cool of night,
Whate'er befall, Love still remains
To make night's darkness light.