Southern garland . herewith the soul he sways. And, queen of his infectious train, Corruption spreads her feesTill een the democratic brain Shows symptoms of disease. Heard, from the speaking stones that strew The hillside of Success;From spheres whose harmonies anew Can those who listen bless; Dawnward ? From breaths of every sacred isle By which my Muses move,Released from battles claim a Brendan voyage of Love; From shambles of the Dispossessed ; From Croesus in his sty;From old Democracy obsessed By fiends about to die: Read, in the scars of veteransIn Wants resultless fray; In no
Southern garland . herewith the soul he sways. And, queen of his infectious train, Corruption spreads her feesTill een the democratic brain Shows symptoms of disease. Heard, from the speaking stones that strew The hillside of Success;From spheres whose harmonies anew Can those who listen bless; Dawnward ? From breaths of every sacred isle By which my Muses move,Released from battles claim a Brendan voyage of Love; From shambles of the Dispossessed ; From Croesus in his sty;From old Democracy obsessed By fiends about to die: Read, in the scars of veteransIn Wants resultless fray; In noon-day Science futile plansTo yoke the soul to clay ; In w^atchings of the social skyAnd soundings of its deep; And ?where Oppressions vultures sad Redeemers w^eep; Neath living palimpsests of Pain; On shards of deathless song;In Gods magnificent disdain Of Might enthroned on Wrong ; Read where, unheeded, outcastes waits Rebellions form: These verses voice an undertone—The prelude to a storm ?. SONG OF THE OLD SUN-DIAL Dawitward? Moras non numero nisi serenas. SING no nitric lays of truth, But filigree the mildewed pastWith eerie fay-lore, verve of youth,Romance and burgeonry of caste :I strive that Glorys charnel-roomNo gentle nostril overpow^ers :Tho grief a million days may gloom,I only count the sunny hours. The sky may ^varn, in cirrus scroll, Of cataclysmic change ahead:Insistent stratus layer with dole Horizons spacious Hope had spread ?Weird w^rongs may mass their cumuli. Or, lurid, belch from nimbus* towers:These weary Joy. I pass them by. And only count the sunny hours. The dark is for the common herd By whom the dirty work is done;By whom lifes sw^eetmeats are prepared For those ^rho can enjoy the d have me pen their shoddy strife, And deem their fungus virtues flowers ?Deny that glad repose is life. And cease to * count the sunny hours? Tho* women soiled blaspheme the nights And veins of men are leeched for gold,Tho* truculent Ambition bl
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