Somewhere is music from the linnets' bills, 
And thro' the sunny flowers the bee-wings drone, 
And white bells of convolvulus on hills 
Of quiet May make silent ringing, blown 
Hither and thither by the wind of showers, 
And somewhere all the wandering birds have flown; 
And the brown breath of Autumn chills the flowers. 

But where are all the loves of long ago? 
O little twilight ship blown up the tide, 
Where are the faces laughing in the glow 
Of morning years, the lost ones scattered wide 
Give me your hand, O brother, let us go 
Crying about the dark for those who died.