Familiar Countenances

When thru' winds I learned to voice, 

And to mountains phrased I my soul's desire.

Those faces so familiar from the yore,

Stood forth mine eyes like a winter fire.

Eleven years of seasons play'd,

For eleven winters bare to kiss.

And the warmth of a century,

This day proffered me bowls of bliss.

Little but those vibrant morns,

The school gate was never too far.

And for years when roads are grey,

The school door seems like a star.

For plans are made seldom beguiling, 

Those of greenness spreading wide.

And this plan is too neat and soothing,

Made me rejoice from deep inside. 

Six bright visages I beheld past years,

Bygone were but memories still.

And today when like an oneiric gust,

They ignited in me a zealous thrill.

Seventy long and gleeful miles,

And I was floating o'er clouds; so gay!

A trip so sketched and silkenly play'd,

Made me cherish this little day.

A game since ages was left unplay'd,

Flowing forth like a broken stream.

And today when all perched together,

The finished race stood like a dream.

For moments but in a hush, I stood,

Beholding 'em all play in joy.

And for a blink, I felt in heart,

Ah! but I'm still a little boy.

Saw the mountain stood at ease,

As a witness to our friendship festal.

And each face with a fulgent gleam,

Gleamed ablaze as a flaunty crystal.

Those enraptly familiar countenances,

Let 'em hold this jocund smile.

And we shall paint such mornings oft too,

And waltz raffishly o'er longer miles.