When in the old years I had dreams of thee
Thy dark walls stood in a most barren place;
And he within (was his wan face my face?)
Wandered alone and wept continually.
There was no bird to hear, nor sun to see,

Nor green thing growing; nor for his release
Came sleep; neither forgetfulness nor peace:
Whereby I knew that none had sinned as he.
To-day I met him where white lilies gleam;
Across our path we watched the sparrows flit;
Until—the sunlight strong in our dry eyes—
He paused with me beside a green-edged stream,
Moaning, “I know, where its young waters rise,
Remembering, one leaneth over it.”