Classic Poem

Ah, Dearest, these are the last, last days,
Their moments swiftly run;
The hills are lost in purple haze,
We scarce can see the sun;
With drooping wings, through endless space,
Our old illusions flee,
And silence comes, with sacred face,
And stares at you and me.

Ah, Love, my Love, in last, last days,
How sweet the roses seem;
While yet a little light delays,
Back comes the morning dream.
In tents of peace, with perfect trust
That youth may never know,
Though half our idols lie in dust,
How fond the heart can grow!

Ah, Dearest, these are the last, last days,
Their moments swiftly run;
The hills are lost in purple haze,
We scarce can see the sun;
With drooping wings, through endless space,
Our old illusions flee,
And silence comes, with sacred face,
And stares at you and me.

Ah, Love, my Love, in last, last days,
How sweet the roses seem;
While yet a little light delays,
Back comes the morning dream.
In tents of peace, with perfect trust
That youth may never know,
Though half our idols lie in dust,
How fond the heart can grow!