I .

The Lily watched the stately Rose
And envied her her bloom
" I wait, " she said, " in white repose,
I might be in my tomb
The Rose is sweet, the Rose is red,
Her lover is the Sun:
But I — I might as well be dead!
I'm loved and sought of none!

I never shall be happy,
I never shall be red!
The Rose has won my sweetheart,

“THE WAY THE WORLD GOES ROUND”

I.

Spring and summer, joy and sorrow,
 Rose and lily and autumn leaf;
Laughter now, but tears to-morrow,
 Rapture followed fast by grief;
Grass, then snows upon the ground:
That's the way the world goes round!

II.

Peace for years and hedgerows hoary
 With the fragrant bloom of may;
War for months, and meadows gory;
 Stars that weep and turn away
From the reeking battle-ground:
That's the way the world goes round!

III.

Brave old world! It pauses never

Five wreaths! When will he come, I say!
What's that I hear you grunt—‘Assez!
You've got no change’? Deuce take you then:
Servants forsooth, you're highwaymen.
‘You've done no wrong’? Well, we will see:
Here, Jenny, bring his book to me.
‘Five shillings wine.’ You dirty dog!
I'll truss you up, you Lapith hog!
And what's this—‘Sausage, half-a-crown
Fish, eggs and pastry’ all put down,
‘And honey’—Stop. I've had enough.
To-morrow I'll go through the stuff.
Now off to Truefitt's, and be quick
Unless you want to feel my stick.

God defends th' oppress'd from harm,
Throws around the slave his arm;
Despots may his will oppose,
But, behold! his anger glows!

See! his awful arm he bares,
Bends his bow, his spear prepares;
From his magazines of wrath,
Pours his fury on their path.

Where's the despot's boasting now?
Fill'd with pangs, behold him bow!
What's the fruit of all his care?
Worthless dust and empty air!

Where the treach'rous pit he made,
For himself a snare he laid;
Where destruction he intends,
On himself the storm descends.

Horses go down the dingy lane,
But never a horse comes up again.
The greasy yard where the red hides lie
Marks the place where the horses die.

Wheat was sinking year by year,
I bought things cheap, I sold them dear;
Rent was heavy and taxes high,
And a weary-hearted man was I.

In Lindisfaire I walked my grounds,
I hadn't the heart to ride to hounds,
And as I walked in black despair,
I saw my old bay hunter there.

He tried to nuzzle against my cheek,
He looked the grief he could not speak,
But no caress came back again,

Upon a perfect starry night
We stood beside the silent deep,
Tranced in a still supreme delight,
While all the earth was tranced in sleep
" O holy stars that gaze from heaven above,
Guard us, " I murmured — " shield true hearts who love!
Watch over him, watch over him and me "
— A threatening strange moan answered from the sea,
" Ah me! Ah me! "

And now upon a wintry night,
While at my feet the breakers roar
Flecking the beach with angry white,
I stand just where we stood of yore.

GOLD-WINGED SPIRITS

Two gold-winged spirits went
Towards heaven well content:
In fiery dream
To blend they seem,
And the veil of heaven was rent.

Then through and through
The gleaming blue
These wedded spirits passed,
Till they reached God's throne at last,
And God's own rapture knew.

Rapture supreme, unending,
For ever downward sending
Love-glory like a gleam;

There is a better thing, dear heart,
Than youthful flush or girlish grace.
There is the faith that never fails,
The courage in the danger place,
The duty seen, and duty done,
The heart that yearns for all in need,
The lady soul which could not stoop
To selfish thought or lowly deed.
All that we ever dreamed, dear wife,
Seems drab and common by the truth,
The sweet sad mellow things of life
Are more than golden dreams of youth.

Ah! dear old Christmas-tides of long ago.
Around the creaking roof-tops roared the blast:
The streets and hills and fields were draped in snow;
Across the ice the glittering skates shot past.
Youth was not dead!
Bright green and red
The holly-leaves and holly-berries gleamed.
The merry church-bells rang;
Our young hearts laughed and sang;
Of joyous years to come our spirits dreamed.

But years to come bring trouble and despair.
If childhood brings its simple dream of joy
Youth brings love's holier dream, a dream more fair

What wonder is't if Love, the bane of man,
Has weapons three to work his cruel plan.
The mother from whose womb he came to life
Was bride of Fire, and paramour of Strife,
Herself fierce Ocean's child, lashed by the breeze,
Without a father, rising from the seas.
And so from husband, lover, and grand-dame
Her son's rough laugh, bold eyes, red arrows came.
Thalatta's temper his, Hephaestus' fire,
And shafts of Ares stained with blood and mire.