NEW POEMS
But comes a time when in his might
The man of sceptre or of gold
Is laid upon the marble cold,
And soul within takes hurried flight.
The wondrous man is but a clod
As lowly as the earth he trod.
Far in the realm of the unknown
A little light has found its way
A flicker in the newer day
That hallows round a Godly throne;
Once housed in the Eternal Land
The light perceives the Master Hand.
CLXXII
TO MASTER ANDREW LANG
ON HIS RE-EDITING OF "CUPID AND PSYCHE."
YOU, that are much a fisher in the pool
Of things forgotten, and from thence bring up
Gold of old song, and diamonds of dead speech,
The scholar, and the angler, and the friend
Of the pale past, this unremembered tale
Restore, and this dead author re-inspire;
And lo, Oblivion the iniquitous
Remembers, and the stone is rolled away.
And he, the long asleep, sees once again
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