Whither?
Metadata research and editing
DVPP Project Team
Fralick
Kaitlyn
University of Victoria Digital Victorian Periodical Poetry Project
Victoria, BC, Canada
In the public domain
All the Year Round
2
4
93
347–348
All spangled are the beech trees, with motes of autumngold,
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Whither ?
All spangled are the beech trees, with motes of autumn
gold,
And ’neath their spreading red leaves is many a love-tale
told :
O’erclouds the sky with shadow, the thunder showers
fall,
And fade away the sunbeams—away beyond recal.
The babbling brook o’er-ripples the pebbles smooth
and white,
The water-lilies quiver, and tremble in the light :
Arise the wind and tempest, from whence we may not
know,
The brook becomes a torrent, away the lilies flow !
The prisoned lark is straining his little throat to raise
The song that once on green turf he sang to Heaven’s
praise :
His shrill sweet notes ascending, in melody uprise,
Re-echoing till their music is lost amid the skies.
Ah ! Whither go the gold motes, and where the lilies
white,
Borne onward by the torrent, resistless from our sight ?
And whither goes the brooklet, and where the birdie’s
lay
Is it unto that Hereafter, whither all must pass away ?