DOUGLAS HYDE

Were I and my darling O heart-bitter wound !

On board of the ship For America bound.

On a green bed of rushes

All last night I lay, And I flung it abroad

With the heat of the day.

And my Love came behind me, He came from the South;

His breast to my bosom, His mouth to my mouth.

��ARTHUR CHRISTOPHER BENSON

8f p. The Thanix

Y feathers green, across Casbeen

The pilgrims track the Phoenix flown, By gems he strew'd in waste and wood, And jewellM plumes at random thrown.

Till wandering far, by moon and star, They stand beside the fruitful pyre,

Where breaking bright with sanguine light The impulsive bird forgets his sire.

Those ashes shine like ruby wine,

Like bag of Tyrian murex spilt, The claw, the jowl of the flying fowl

Are with the glorious anguish gilt.

�� �