THE POET IN THE CITY THE Poet stood in the sombre town, The sound of the Spring's light tread. He thought he saw in the pearly east The pale March sun arise, Out of the smoke, and noise, and sin To leave the struggle of want and wealth, And the battle of lust and pride!" He bent his ear, and he heard afar The growing of tender things, The changeless days were so sad to him, But when the time of the roses came, Yet dream not such a spirit dies, The frail soul-covering, racked with pain, Weep not; but watch the moonlit air! The beams pierce heaven from bar to bar, DE ROSIS HIBERNIS AMBITIOUS Nile, thy banks deplore Across the gala-streets of Rome, But if the barge that brought thy store Had foundered in the Lybian deep, It had not slain thy glory more, Nor plunged thy rose in salter sleep; Nor gods nor Cæsars wait thee now, No jealous Pæstum dreads thy spring, Crimson of the quince, Whiteness of the white rose, She went to cut the blush-rose buds Scarlet of the poppy, Yellow of the corn, The men were at the garnering, A-shouting in the morn; I chased her to a pippin-tree, The waking birds all whist, And oh ! it was the sweetest kiss That I have ever kiss'd. Marjorie, mint, and violets A-drying round us set, 'T was all done in the faïence-room A-spicing marmalet; On one tile was a satyr, On one a nymph at bay, Methinks the birds will scarce be home To wake our wedding-day! TWICKENHAM FERRY "And I'll row ye so quick and I'll row ye so steady, And 't is but a penny to Twickenham The ferryman's slim and the ferryman's young, With just a soft tang in the turn of his tongue; And he's fresh as a pippin and brown as a berry, And 't is but a penny to Twickenham AHOY! and O-ho! and it's who's for And, with Love like a rose in the stern of |