“ And lost is the scarlet cloak of the cardinal Beaufort;
Tapers are quencht and rods of silver broken,
Where once king Richard dined beneath the leopards:
But think you that any beautifulness is wasted,
Wherewith Mine angels have blessed the blue-eyed English,
Twining into stone an obscure dream of Heaven,
A crown of flinty spines about the Rose,
A slim flame blessing the coronal of thorns? ”

“ Since, with a look of indifference, in a storm of elegance,
Like some knowing, hungering bird,
Like some forewarned, huckstering drone of a butterfly,
Like a swift passion—she swept past my youth unhonied.
And I am now a very old man—almost dead ”

“ Dream, planet-struck by the grape's round wine-red star.
Nymphs, I shall see the shade that now you are.
41
C. R. JURY (MAGDALEN) LOVE
Though life has stooped before its height,
And beauty, that I still shall trust,
The child of a diviner light
Be torn, and lower than the dust,
Love has a life beyond the heat
Of sorrow, pain, desire or dread;
He holds as his eternal seat
The great remembrance of the dead.
They lose no splendour by decay ”

“ Steam of the violet fragrant frankincense burns not:
All gone; it was too beautiful to die.
It was too beautiful to live; the world
Ne'er rotted it with her slow-creeping hells:
Men shall not see the Vision crowned and pearled,
When Jerusalem blossomed in the noontide bells! ”

“ Beneath the fall's white glare and drumming zest,
Where on black depths an hundred suns are burning,
Their bodies bound, like faggots, breast to breast
Rose for a peaceful space, lazily turning:
Their mutual smile acknowledged this was best.
Love had found Honour's way. O bitter learning!
54
ELIZABETH RENDALL (HOME STUDENT) MY SOUL IS AN INFANTA (From the French of Albert Samain.)
My soul is an Infanta, robed for state,
Whose exiled years, termless, imperial,
Are mirrored in some dim Escurial,
Forgotten as old galleys in the roads disconsolate. ”

“ Down there at Ducklington
The ducks are never old;
The geese are always goslings,
The catkins always gold.
The orchards blossom ever
Like foam heaped on a cup,
Down there at Ducklington
Where never a duck grows up! ”

“ Swells to a shattering roar that daunts the world;
And round the curve, a black embodied force
Triumphantly increases, and is hurled
Like a great wave upon us, swallowing all.
Vague figures wax and wane and fluctuate
In the inane, till one, more steadfast-small,
Persists, grows luminous, letting penetrate ”

“ Which nobody else may grow
In a big quarrelsome house like ours
They try it sometimes, but no,
I root them up because they're my flowers
Which nobody else may grow.
Claire has a tea-rose, but she didn't plant it ”

“ What shall be said when this is pondered on—
"Either He lives not who created man,
Or man for sin is cast forth from His grace;
Yea, between Him and man a gulf is set"? This poem originally appeared in The Westminster Gazette. ”

“ Aye, there's many a man does be drownded,
An' carried a middling way:
But never the like o' me brother
Was floated from Dublin to Bray.
63
D. E. A. WALLACE (SOMERVILLE) SONNET IN CONTEMPT OF DEATH
When I consider some day wanton Death
With sudden hand ungently laid above
The heart of her, my softly-sleeping love,
Shall fright away her sweet and rhythmic breath ”