We wake and whisper awhile, But, the day gone by, Silence and sleep like fields Of amaranth lie.

His are the quiet steeps of dreamland, The waters of no-more-pain; His ram's bell rings 'neath an arch of stars, 'Rest, rest, and rest again.'

Oh, no man knows Through what wild centuries Roves back the rose.

Softly along the road of evening, In a twilight dim with rose, Wrinkled with age, and drenched with dew Old Nod, the shepherd, goes.