On a rich man's table, rim to rim. We rise up laughing with the light, We lie down weeping with the night. We hug the world until it stings, We curse it then and sigh for wings. And that's the burden of a year. The steeple bells all sweetly ringing.
Night falls as in some foreign clime, Between the hills that slope and rise.
So dusk the shades at landing time, We could not see each other's eyes. How dusky were those paths that led Up from the river to the hall. The tall trees branching overhead Invite the early shades that fall. So soon, so soon, the changes came. This August day we two alone, On that same river, not the same, Dream of a night forever flown.