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th fields at ease Thought not to hear the sound on earth revived Of summer music from the spring derived When thy song sucked the flower of flowering trees. But thine was not the chance of every day: Time, after many a darkling hour, grew sunny, And light between the clouds ere sunset swam, Laughing, and kissed their darkness all away, When, touched and tasted and approved, thy honey Took subtler sweetness from the lips of Lamb. TO JOHN NICHOL I Friend of the dead, and friend of all my days Even since they cast off boyhood, I salute The song saluting friends whose songs are mute With full burnt-offerings of clear-spirited praise. That since our old young years our several ways Have led through fields diverse of flower and fruit, Yet no cross wind has once relaxed the root We set long since beneath the sundawn's rays, The root of trust whence towered the trusty tree, Friendship--this only and duly might impel My song to salutation of your own; More even than praise of one unseen of me And loved--the starry spirit of Dobell, To mine by light and music only known. II But more than this what moves me most of all To leave not all unworded and unsped The whole heart's greeting of my thanks unsaid Scarce needs this sign, that from my tongue should fall His name whom sorrow and reverent love recall, The sign to friends on earth of that dear head Alive, which now long since untimely dead The wan grey waters covered for a pall. Their trustless reaches dense with tangling stems Took never life more taintless of rebuke, More pure and perfect, more serene and kind, Than when those clear eyes closed beneath the Thames, And made the now more hallowed name of Luke Memorial to us of morning left behind. _May 1881._ DYSTHANATOS _Ad generem Cereris sine caede et vulnere pauci Descendunt reges, aut sicca morte tyranni._ By no dry death another king goes down The way of kings. Yet may no free man's voice, For stern compassion and deep awe, rejoice That one sign more is given against the crown, That one more head those dark red waters drown Which rise round thrones whose trembling equipoise Is propped on sand and bloodshed and such toys As human hearts that shrink at human frown. The name writ red on Polish earth, the star That was to outshine our England's in the far East heaven of empire--where is one that saith Proud wo
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