WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT

The broken stones which were their palaces ! Hast thou forgot the darkness where he lies Who made thee beautiful, or have thy bees Found out his grave to build their honeycombs ?

O world, in very truth thou art too young:

They gave thee love who measured out thy skies,

And, when they found for thee another star,

Who made a festival and straightway hung

The jewel on thy neck. O merry world,

Hast thou forgot the glory of those eyes

Which first look'd love in thine ? Thou hast not furl'd

One banner of thy bridal car for them.

O world, in very truth thou art too young. There was a voice which sang about thy spring, Till winter froze the sweetness of his lips, And lo, the worms had hardly left his tongue Before thy nightingales were come again. O world, what courage hast thou thus to sing ? Say, has thy merriment no secret pain, No sudden weariness that thou art young ?

��823. The Two Highwaymen

T LONG have had a quarrel set with Time

• Because he robb'd me. Every day of life

Was wrested from me after bitter strife :

I never yet could see the sun go down

But I was angry in my heart, nor hear

The leaves fall in the wind without a tear

Over the dying summer. I have known

No truce with Time nor Time's accomplice, Death.

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