Alas! from times remembered hills
cold blows the air, the heart it kills.
Flown happy days, where once thou went
amid the sisterhood of love's content;
now, love-caressing, soft whispered sighs,
touching kiss, those sleepy too tired eyes,
tear washed by vast oceans spent
with murmuring voice, love's echo eloquent
speak of thy most beauteous things,
as a haunting lilt on plaintive stings,
reflecting sorrow like grey ashen flowers
through aching pain's sad empty hours.
Yet through opaque tears, beauties lore
recall, love that we had known before,
Lord overseer, master of the deep dark night,
shall torch a star of finest light,
bursting forth as a flower from a bud,
serving warm the sorrowed flowing blood,
ever stay regardless of clouded moons,
to brighter burn than summer's noons,
spill music o'er our once known shore,
to serenade its sweetness all the more;
thereby ease pain from which we strive,
keeping all that's ours awake, alive,
shall see through tears, shinning without stain,
till by grace, sisterhood chance meet again
in evening chapel, coloured vespers store,
church quiet love, measureless by its door,
wherein, memorized breezes charm compel
us listen to the music of its spell,
where all anguished cadence dies away
and restful peace finds its long awaited day.