Poems; with introdby Richard Garnett and illusby Byam Shaw . 123 EARTHS IMMORTALITIES EARTHS IMMORTALITIES FAME See, as the prettiest graves will do in time,Our poets wants the freshness of its prime;Spite of the sextons browsing horse, the sodsHave struggled thro its binding osier-rods ;Headstone and half-sunk footstone lean awry,Wanting the brick-work promised by and by ;How the minute grey lichens, plate oer plate, .Have softened down the crisp-cut name and date! LOVE So, the year s done with ! {Love me for ever !)All March begun with, Aprils endeavour;May-wreaths that bound me June needs m
Poems; with introdby Richard Garnett and illusby Byam Shaw . 123 EARTHS IMMORTALITIES EARTHS IMMORTALITIES FAME See, as the prettiest graves will do in time,Our poets wants the freshness of its prime;Spite of the sextons browsing horse, the sodsHave struggled thro its binding osier-rods ;Headstone and half-sunk footstone lean awry,Wanting the brick-work promised by and by ;How the minute grey lichens, plate oer plate, .Have softened down the crisp-cut name and date! LOVE So, the year s done with ! {Love me for ever !)All March begun with, Aprils endeavour;May-wreaths that bound me June needs must sever !Now snows fall round me, Quenching Junes fever— {Love me for ever !) SONGI Nay but you, who do not love her,Is she not pure gold, my mistress? Holds earth aught—speak truth—above her?Aught like this tress, see, and this tress, And this last fairest tress of all. So fair, see, ere I let it fall! 124 i*^ ;son^ <^o h s/ie -not. MEETING AT NIGHT II Because, you spend your lives in praising; To praise, you search the wide world over;So, why not witness, calmly gazing. If earth holds aught—speak truth—above her?Above this tress, and this I touchBut cannot praise, I love so much ! MEETING AT NIGHTI The grey sea and the long black land ;And the yellow half-moon large and low ;And the startled little waves that leapIn fiery little ringlets from their sleep,As I gain the cove with pushing quench its speed in the slushy sand. II Then a mile of warm sea-scented beach ;Three fields to cross till a farm appears ;A tap at the pane, the quick sharp scratchAnd blue spurt of a lighted a voice less loud, thro its joys and the two hearts beating each to each! PARTING AT MORNING Round the cape of a sudden came the sea,And the sun looked over the mountains rim-And straight was a path of gold for him,And the need of a world of men for me. 127 THE GLOVE THE GLOVE (PETER RONSARD loquitur) Heigho,
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