A fringe of rushes -- one green line br    Upon a faded plain; br A silver streak of water-shine -- br    Above, tree-watchers twain. br It was our resting-place awhile, br    And still, with backward gaze, br We say: "'Tis many a weary mile -- br    But there were happy days." br br And shall no ripple break the sand br    Upon our farther way? br Or reedy ranks all knee-deep stand? br    Or leafy tree-tops sway? br The gold of dawn is surely met br    In sunset's lavish blaze; br And -- in horizons hidden yet -- br    There shall be happy days.