Classic Poem

Into the evening shadows,
Ever we see them pass,
Steeds with their stately steppings,
Wheels as of rippling glass;

Over the sand and pebbles —
Over the stones and clay,
Fitfully lit and darkened,
Vanishing with the day.

They to the sempiternal
Sunshine without a pain;
We, as though the eternal
Shadows had closed again;

For their eyes were the fondest, clearest,
That ever our souls drew near,
And their voices the sweetest, dearest,
That ever our souls shall hear.

Dark is the house, my brother,
Where the shadow of parting falls,
And only the eyes of our memories
Follow us round the walls.

Dark is our lot, my brother —
Sad as this planet bears —
Should our lip deny to another
The light it hath learned at theirs,

If, after the day is over,
And the shadow of evening steals,
No eye through its mists shall follow
The flight of our chariot wheels.