We should waste no moments in We should be from our clamorous weak regret, If the day were but one; selves set free, To work or to pray, If what we remember and what we And to be what the Father would Wheel, wheel through the sunshine, NOR force nor fraud shall sunder us! There must be odors round the pine, O ye For God. O ye, who in eternal Speak with a living and creative flood Of the great mother-tongue, and ye shall be brake Perchance some nightingale doth He used to sing on yonder garden tree, Lords of an empire wide as Shakes-Along my life my length I lay, peare's soul, Sublime as Milton's immemorial theme, I fill to-morrow and yesterday, I am warm with the suns that have long since set, And rich as Chaucer's speech, and I am warm with the summers that are fair as Spenser's dream. HOME, WOunded. STAY wherever you will, By the mount or under the hill, |