| Silence and sleep like fields of amaranth lie | |
| Very old are the woods | |
| And the buds that break out of the briers boughs | |
| When March winds wake | |
| So old with their beauty are | |
| Oh no man knows through what wild centuries | |
| Roves back the rose | |
| Very old are the brooks | |
| And the rills that rise | |
| Where snow sleeps cold beneath the azure skies | |
| Sing such a history of come and gone | |
| We wake and whisper a while | |
| But the day gone by | |
| Very old are we men | |
| Our dreams are tales told in dim Eden | |
| By Eve's nightingales. |
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