Beneath the summer evening's last late gleam,
Who has not of a fair land dreamed a dream,
And watched at sunset its bright doors of gold,
And almost wept to see the darkness fold
Them fast in shadows! Yea, or that country may
Have lain much nearer to our common day,
In mists enrolled,
Even across the gray hills in the west,
Where the swift birds flew homeward to their rest.
They knew its ramparts and its gardens bright,
And fled away there from the coming night.
0 that our eager feet that way might win,
Our eyes might see it, we might enter in,
On wings as light!
Unknowingly, of earth already tired,
A better country 'twas that we desired,
But knew naught of it, till a year of years
Had dawned and faded, shadowed by our tears.
Then came an angel, and our feet were brought
To the blest boundary of the land of thought,
And end of fears.
