So pleasantly the fleeting days go by,
So much they bring of bliss without alloy,
So much to give my thought and will employ,
Whether upon the fragrant turf I lie,
With face upturned and watch some argosy,
Of white-sailed clouds, freighted with summer joy,
Or track the fancies that, on wings more coy
Than shyest bird's, explore a deeper sky,
Or converse hold with whom I love the best, —
The greatest wonder that my spirit knows
Is — that with so much gone I am so bless'd?
Ah, no! But from this thought it ever flows:
How could my heart contain its vast delight,
If my lost saints were with me here to-night?