Spells to ward off age's peril ; Lips that give not Love shall live not, Eyes that meet not eyes are sterile. XXI. But the beauty Bound in duty Fast to love that falls off never Love shall cherish Lest it perish, And its root bears fruit for ever. TWO LEADERS. βᾶτε δόμον, μεγάλοι φιλοτίμοι Νυκτὸς παῖδες ἄπαιδες, ὑπ ̓ εὔφρονι πομπᾷ. I. O GREAT and wise, clear-souled and high of heart, One the last flower of Catholic love, that grows Amid bare thorns their only thornless rose, From the fierce juggling of the priests' loud mart Yet alien, yet unspotted and apart From the blind hard foul rout whose shameless shows Mock the sweet heaven whose secret no man knows With prayers and curses and the soothsayer's art; One like a storm-god of the northern foam Strong, wrought of rock that breasts and breaks the sea And thunders back its thunder, rhyme for rhyme Answering, as though to outroar the tides of time And bid the world's wave back-what song should be Theirs that with praise would bring and sing you home? II. With all our hearts we praise you whom ye hate, High souls that hate us; for our hopes are higher, Was of the night when hope and fear stood nigher, Last prophets of past kind, who fill the dome Of great dead Gods with wrath and wail, nor hear. Time's word and man's: 'Go honoured hence, go home, Night's childless children; here your hour is done; Pass with the stars, and leave us with the sun.' VICTOR HUGO IN 1877. 'Dazzle mine eyes, or do I see three suns?' ABOVE the spring-tide sundawn of the year, A sunlike star, not born of day or night, Filled the fair heaven of spring with heavenlier light, Made of all ages orbed in one sole sphere Whose light was as a Titan's smile or tear; Then rose a ray more flowerlike, starry white, Like a child's eye grown lovelier with delight, Sweet as a child's heart-lightening laugh to hear; As of God's wrath on the unclean cities, fell A beacon fired by lightning, whence all time CHILD'S SONG. WHAT is gold worth, say, Worth for work or play, Worth to keep or pay, Hide or throw away, Hope about or fear? What is love worth, pray? Worth a tear? Golden on the mould Lie the dead leaves rolled Of the wet woods old, Yellow leaves and cold, Woods without a dove ; Gold is worth but gold; Love's worth love. |