THIS is earth’s liberty-day:
Yonder the linden-trees sway
To music of winds from the west,
And I hear the old merry refrain,
Of the stream that has broken its chain
By the gates of the City of Rest,
The City whose exquisite towers
I see thro’ the sunny long hours
If but from my window I lean;
Yea, dearest! thy threshold of stone,
Thine ivy-grown door and my own
Have naught save the river between.
Thine on that heavenly height
Are beauty, and warmth, and delight;
And long as our parting shall be,
Live there in thy summer! nor know
How near lie the frost and the snow
On hearts that are breaking for thee.