White-limbed he lieth, dead youth, so strong, so fair, -
And O, for slumber that woke to happy days!
And O, the moonlights, the golden dreams that were,
And O, the glory of life’s long pleasant ways!
Fair were the faces his eyes have looked upon,
But these are haggared, and wan, and very sad.
Sweet the love-laughters, and red the lips he won, -
But here is silence of lips no longer glad.
So, part the branches, where light falls long between,