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The Long Lane
by [?]

All through the summer night, down the long lane in flower,
The moon-white lane,
All through the summer night,–dim as a shower,
Glimmer and fade the Twain:
Over the cricket hosts, throbbing the hour by hour,
Young voices bloom and wane.

Down the long lane they go, and past one window, pale
With visions silver-blurred;
Stirring the heart that waits,–the eyes that fail
After a spring deferred.
Query, and hush, and Ah!–dim through a moon-lit veil,
The same one word.

Down the long lane, entwined with all the fragrance there;
The lane in flower somehow
With youth, and plighted hands, and star-strewn air,
And muted ‘Thee’ and ‘Thou’:–
All the wild bloom and reach of dreams that never were,
–Never to be, now.

So, in the throbbing dark, where ebbs the old refrain,
A starved heart hears.
And silver-bright, and silver-blurred again
With moonlight and with tears.
All the long night they go, down the long summer lane,
The long, long years.