JOHN LEICESTER WARREN
Brother and King, we hold our last carouse. One loving-cup we drain and then farewell.
The night is spent: the crystal morning ray Calls us, as soldiers laurell'd on our brows,
To march undaunted while the clarions swell Heroic hearts, upon our lonely way.
ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE
T T 7"HEN the hounds of spring are on winter's traces,
T T The mother of months in meadow or plain Fills the shadows and windy places
With lisp of leaves and ripple of rain; And the brown bright nightingale amorous Is half assuaged for Itylus, For the Thracian ships and the foreign faces. The tongueless vigil, and all the pain.
Come with bows bent and with emptying of quivers,
Maiden most perfect, lady of light, With a noise of winds and many rivers,
With a clamour of waters, and with might; Bind on thy sandals, O thou most fleet, Over the splendour and speed of thy feet; For the faint east quickens, the wan west shivers,
Round the feet of the day and the feet of the night.
Where shall we find her, how shall we sing to her, Fold our hands round her knees, and cling ?
O that man's heart were as fire and could spring to her, Fire, or the strength of the streams that spring!
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