Out Of The Past There Rises A Week - Who Shall Read The Years O! - Out Of The Past There Rises A Week Enringed With A Purple Zone. Out Of The Past There Rises A Week When Thoughts Were Strung Too Thick To Speak, And The Magic Of Its Lineaments Remains With Me Alone. In That Week There Was Heard A Singing - Who Shall Spell The Years, The Years! - In That Week There Was Heard A Singing, And The White Owl Wondered Why. In That Week, Yea, A Voice Was Ringing, And Forth From The Casement Were Candles Flinging Radiance That Fell On The Deodar And Lit Up The Path Thereby. Could That Song Have A Mocking Note? - Who Shall Unroll The Years O! - Could That Song Have A Mocking Note To The White Owl'S Sense As It Fell? Could That Song Have A Mocking Note As It Trilled Out Warm From The Singer'S Throat, And Who Was The Mocker And Who The Mocked When Two Felt All Was Well? In A Tedious Trampling Crowd Yet Later - Who Shall Bare The Years, The Years! - In A Tedious Trampling Crowd Yet Later, When Silvery Singings Were Dumb; In A Crowd Uncaring What Time Might Fate Her, Mid Murks Of Night I Stood To Await Her, And The Twanging Of Iron Wheels Gave Out The Signal That She Was Come. She Said With A Travel-Tired Smile - Who Shall Lift The Years O! - She Said With A Travel-Tired Smile, Half Scared By Scene So Strange; She Said, Outworn By Mile On Mile, The Blurred Lamps Wanning Her Face The While, "O Love, I Am Here; I Am With You!" . . . Ah, That There Should Have Come A Change! O The Doom By Someone Spoken - Who Shall Unseal The Years, The Years! - O The Doom That Gave No Token, When Nothing Of Bale Saw We: O The Doom By Someone Spoken, O The Heart By Someone Broken, The Heart Whose Sweet Reverberances Are All Time Leaves To Me. Jan.-Feb. 1913.