Vainly, of the Musician and His theme,
How the great Master in a day most blest
Shall strike some mighty chords in harmony,
And make an end, and set the music free!

We snatch from Fate our moments of delight,
Few as, in April hours, the wooing calls
Of orioles, or when the twilight falls
First o'er the forest ere the approach of night
The eyes of evening;--and Love's song is sung
But once, Dear Heart, but once, and we are young.

Over the seas together, you and I,
'Neath blue Italian skies, or on the hills
Of storied Greece,--where the warm sunlight fills
Spain's mellow vineyards,--wandering reverently
O'er the green plains of Palestine,--our days
A golden holiday in Old World ways.

Yet would we linger not by southern shores;
The bracing breath of Scandinavian snows
Would draw us from our dreams. The North wind blows
Upon thy cheek, my Norseman, and the roars
Of the wild Baltic sound within my ears
When to my dreams thy stalwart form appears.

This will the future bring. See! Thou hast given
From out the fulness of thy strength and will
This courage to me. Though the rugged hill
Looms high, and fronts our vision, yet our heaven