It's like the light, —
A fashionless delight
It's like the bee, —
A dateless melody.
It's like the woods,
Private like breeze,
Phraseless, yet it stirs
The proudest trees.
It's like the morning, —
Best when it's done, —
The everlasting clocks
Chime noon.
Oh they won't let us show it at the beach no they won't let us show it at the beach
They think we're gonna grab it if it gets within our reach
And they won't let us show it at the beach
But you can show it in your parlor to most anyone you choose
You can show it at a party with your second shot of booze
You can show it on the corner wearin' overcoat and shoes
But they won't let us show it at the beach
No they won't let us show it at the beach friends
Ah they won't us show it at the beach
Oh they're sure we're gonna grab it if it gets within our reach
So they won't let us show it at the beach
But you can show it in the movies on the cineramic screen
You can show it in the most sophisticated magazine
You can show it while you're bouncing on the high school trampoline
But they won't let us show it at the beach
But if you've got a gun it's legal to display it on your hip
You can show your butcher knives to any interested kid
But if it's made for lovin' then you'd better keep it hid
And they won't let us show it at the beach
When from afar these mountain tops I view,
I do but mete mine own distress thereby:
High is their head, and my desire is high;
Firm is their foot, my faith is certain, too.
E'en as the winds about their summits blue,
From me, too, breaks betimes the wistful sigh;
And as from them the brooks and streamlets hie,
So from mine eyes the tears run down anew.
A thousand flocks upon them feed and stray;
As many loves within me see the day,
And all my heart fore pasture ground divide.
No fruit have they, my lot as fruitless is;
And 'twixt us now nought diverse is but this—
In them the snows, in me the fires abide.
Let the old snow be covered with the new:
The trampled snow, so soiled, and stained, and sodden.
Let it be hidden wholly from our view
By pure white flakes, all trackless and untrodden.
When Winter dies, low at the sweet Spring's feet
Let him be mantled in a clean, white sheet.
Let the old life be covered by the new:
The old past life so full of sad mistakes,
Let it be wholly hidden from the view
By deeds as white and silent as snow-flakes.
Ere this earth life melts in the eternal Spring
Let the white mantle of repentance fling
Soft drapery about it, fold on fold,
Even as the new snow covers up the old.
A twist of folded grass, your pillow,
The only lodging on your journey;
Whose husband, I wonder?
Though in your land, forgotten
Home, they await you.
