The Sky is Blue.
The sky is blue, serenely calm and fair,
No cloud across its solemn arch is flying;
The winds breathe softly through the quivering leaves,
And on the hills the golden light is lying.
O sky! O sunlight! O soft whispering winds!
O earth arrayed in robes of mocking glory!
The sun still shines on piled up graves of hope;
The wandering winds still tell the same sad story.
And weary feet walk ever to and fro,
Caught in the maze of life’s intricate windings;
Each day some head goes down, some soul is crushed;
Each day some broken heart a grave is finding.
Nought but a grave; there is no joy on earth,
There comes no rest but what comes to the dying;
No perfect peace will ever glad our hearts
Till we with close sealed lids and lips are lying.
Agnes Neale, Shadows and Sunbeams, Adelaide: Burden & Bonython, 1890, page 74
lids = eyelids