As Soon As They're Out Of Your

We Wake And Whisper Awhile, But, The Day Gone By, Silence And Sleep Like Fields Of Amaranth Lie.

So, Blind To Someone I Must Be.

When I Lie Where Shades Of Darkness Shall No More Assail Mine Eyes.

Very Old Are The Woods; And The Buds That Break Out Of The Brier's Boughs, When March Winds Wake, So Old With Their Beauty Are-- Oh, No Man Knows Through What Wild Centuries Roves Back The Rose.

His Are The Quiet Steeps Of Dreamland, The Waters Of No-more-pain; His Ram's Bell Rings 'neath An Arch Of Stars, "rest, Rest, And Rest Again.