Classic Poem

As I came over Westcock Hill
My heart was full of tears.
Under the summer's pomp I heard
The spending of the years.
Oh, the sweet years! The swift years!
The years that lapse away!

I saw the green slopes bathed in sun,
The marshlands stretched afar,
And, hurrying pale between its dikes,
My memoried Tantramar.
Oh, the sweet years! The swift years!
The years that lapse away!

The salt tang and the buckwheat scents
Were on the breathing air;
And all was glad. But I was sad
For one who was not there.
Oh, the sweet years! The swift years!
The years that lapse away!

I wandered down to Westcock Church,
The old grey church in the wood.
Kneeling, I heard my father's voice
In that hushed solitude.
Oh, the sweet years! The swift years!
The years that lapse away!

I saw again his surpliced form.
I heard the hymning choir.
Shadows! — and dreams! Alone remained
The ache of my desire.
Oh, the sweet years! The swift years!
The years that lapse away!

He sleeps; — how many a year removed,
How many a league withdrawn
From these dear woods, these turbid floods,
These fields that front the dawn.
Oh, the sweet years! The swift years!
The years have lapsed away!