Christopher John Brennan, The Forest of Night: 1898-1902… (1898)
“ The pangs that guard the gates of joy, the naked sword that will be kist, how distant seem’d they to the boy, white flashes in the rosy mist! Ah, not where tender play was screen’d in the light heart of leafy mirth of that obdurate might we ween’d that shakes the sure repose of earth. ”
