Hill-Top Hours

I am through with regret. No more shall I kennel with pain. I have called to this whimpering soul, This soul that is sodden with tears And sour with the reek of the years! And now we shall glory in light! Like a tatter of sail in the wind, Like a tangle of net on the sand, Like a hound stretched out in the heat, My soul shall lie in the sun, And be drowsy with peace, And not think of the past!