Chapter I: Preface

THIS volume has been garnered from the author's earlier books. Two poems have been chosen from "The White Sail" (1887); nine Oxford Sonnets from a privately printed booklet (1895), since added to, and much altered; and many lyrics, under a revised form, from "A Roadside Harp" (1893), and "The Martyrs' Idyl" (1899), plus some twenty newer titles transferred, with grateful acknowledgments, from _McClure's Magazine_, _The Atlantic_, _Harper's_, _Scribner's_, and _The Century_. The principle of exclusion goes far enough to cover all poems in narrative form, or of any appreciable length, or translated; also, any which seemed out of keeping with the character of the present collection. Such as that is, it comprises the less faulty half of all the author's published verse.

L.I.G.

BOSTON, October 21, 1909.

CONTENTS

_The Kings_ 3

_The Squall_ 5

_Open, Time_ 9

_The Knight Errant_ (_Donatello's Saint George_) 11

_To a Dog's Memory_ 13

_Memorial Day_ 15

_Romans in Dorset: A.D. MDCCCXCV_ 16

_Horologion_ 19

_His Angel to his Mother_ 21

_Autumn Magic_ 23

_Five Carols for Christmastide_:

_I. The Ox he Openeth wide the Doore_ 25

_II. Vines Branching Stilly_ 26

_III. Three without Slumber Ride from Afar_ 27

_IV. Was a Soule from Farre Away_ 28

_V. The Ox and the Ass_ 29

_On Leaving Winchester_ 32

_Cobwebs_ 34

_Astræa_ 35

_The Yew-Tree_ 36

_Ten Colloquies_:

_I. The Search_ 38

_II. Fact and the Mystic_ 39

_III. The Poet's Chart_ 40

_IV. Of the Golden Age_ 41

_V. On Time's Threshold_ 42

_VI. Wood-Pigeons_ 42
[Transcriber's Note: original erroneously has "Wood-Doves"]

_VII. Predicaments_ 43

_VIII. The Co-Eternal_ 44

_IX. Stern Aphrodite_ 44

_X. The Jubilee_ 45

_Winter Boughs_ 46

_W.H.: A.D. MDCCLXXVIII-MDCCCXXX_ 47

_The Vigil-at-Arms_ 48

_A Friend's Song for Simoisius_ 49

_To an Ideal_ 51

_In a Ruin, after a Thunder-Storm_ 53

_Beati Mortui_ 54

_Two Irish Peasant Songs_:

_I. In Leinster_ 57

_II. In Ulster_ 58

_The Japanese Anemone_ 61

_Orisons_ 63

_The Inner Fate: A Chorus_ 64

_The Acknowledgment_ 66

_By the Trundle-Bed_ 67

_Arboricide_ 68

_The Cherry Bough_ 70

_The Wild Ride_ 73

_Bedesfolk_ 75

_In a City Street_ 77

_Florentin: A.D. MDCCCXC_ 79

_A Song of the Lilac_ 80

_Monochrome_ 81

_Saint Francis Endeth his Sermon_ 82

_An Estray_ 83

_Friendship Broken_ 85

_A Talisman_ 87

_Heathenesse_ 88

_For Izaak Walton_ 89

_Fifteen Epitaphs_ 91

_Deo Optimo Maximo_ 98

_Charista Musing_ 99

_The Still of the Year_ 100

_A Footnote to a Famous Lyric_ 102

_T.W.P.: A.D. MDCCCXIX-MDCCCXCII_ 104

_Summum Bonum_ 105

_When on the Marge of Evening_ 106

_Hylas_ 107

_Nocturne_ 109

_To Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey_ 110

_Planting the Poplar_ 111

_To One Who would not Spare Himself_ 113

_Winter Peace_ 114

_Sleep_ 116

_Writ in my Lord Clarendon's History of the Rebellion_ 117

_In a February Garden_ (_Somerset, England_) 118

_A Valediction._ (_R.L.S.: A.D. MDCCCXCIV_) 120

_A Footpath Morality_ 121

_The Light of the House_ 123

_An Outdoor Litany_ 125

_Of Joan's Youth_ 127

_In a Brecon Valley_ 128

_A Song of Far Travel_ 130

_Spring_ 131

_The Colour-Bearer_ 132

_Sanctuary_ 134

_Emily Brontë_ 135

_Pascal_ 136

_Borderlands_ 137

_Ode for a Master Mariner Ashore_ 138

_Oxford and London: XXVI Sonnets_

_Oxford_:

_I. The Tow-Path_ 145

_II. Ad Antiquarium_ 146

_III. Martyrs' Memorial_ 147

_IV. Parks Road_ 148

_V. Tom_ 149

_VI, VIa. On the Pre-Reformation Churches about Oxford_ 150

_VII. A December Walk_ 152

_VIII. The Old Dial of Corpus_ 153

_IX. Rooks: New College Gardens_ 154

_X. Above Port Meadow_ 155

_XI. Undertones at Magdalen_ 156

_XII, XIIa. A Last View_ 157

_London_:

_I. On First Entering Westminster Abbey_ 159

_II. Fog_ 160

_III. St. Peter-ad-Vincula_ 161

_IV. Strikers in Hyde Park_ 162

_V. Changes in the Temple_ 163

_VI. The Lights of London_ 164

_VII. Doves_ 165

_VIII. In the Reading-Room of the British Museum_ 166

_IX. Sunday Chimes in the City_ 167

_X. A Porch in Belgravia_ 168

_XI. York Stairs_ 169

_XII. In the Docks_ 170

_Notes_ 171

HAPPY ENDING

_The Kings_

A MAN said unto his Angel:
"My spirits are fallen low,
And I cannot carry this battle:
O brother! where might I go?

"The terrible Kings are on me
With spears that are deadly bright;
Against me so from the cradle
Do fate and my fathers fight."

Then said to the man his Angel:
"Thou wavering witless soul,
Back to the ranks! What matter
To win or to lose the whole,

"As judged by the little judges
Who hearken not well, nor see?
Not thus, by the outer issue,
The Wise shall interpret thee.

"Thy will is the sovereign measure
And only event of things:
The puniest heart, defying,
Were stronger than all these Kings.

"Though out of the past they gather,
Mind's Doubt, and Bodily Pain,
And pallid Thirst of the Spirit
That is kin to the other twain,

"And Grief, in a cloud of banners,
And ringletted Vain Desires,
And Vice, with the spoils upon him
Of thee and thy beaten sires,--

"While Kings of eternal evil
Yet darken the hills about,
Thy part is with broken sabre
To rise on the last redoubt;

"To fear not sensible failure,
Nor covet the game at all,
But fighting, fighting, fighting,
Die, driven against the wall."

_The Squall_

WHILE all was glad,
It seemed our birch-tree had,
That August hour, intelligence of death;
For warningly against the eaves she beat
Her body old, lamenting, prophesying,
And the hot breath
Of ferny hollows nestled at her feet
Spread out in startled sighing.

Across an argent sea,
Distinct unto the farthest reef and isle,
The clouds began to be.
Huge forms 'neath sombre draperies, awhile
Made slow uncertain rally;
But as their ranks conjoined, and from the north
The leader shook his lance, Oh, then how fair
Unvested, they stood forth,
In diverse armour, plumed majestically,
Each with his own esquires, a King in air!

Up moved the dark vanguard,
With insolent colours that o'erdusked the skies,
And trailed from beach to beach:
Massed orange and mould-green; vermilion barred
On bronze or mottled silver; saffron dyes
And purples migratory
Fanned each in each,
As the long column broke, athirst for glory.

Sudden, the thunder!
Upon the roofed verandas how it rolled,
Twice, thrice: a thud and flame of doom that told
New-fallen, nor far away,
Some black destruction on the innocent day.
And little Everard
Deep in the hammock under, eyes alight
With healthful fear and wonder
The brave do ne'er unlearn,
Clenched his soft hand, and breathing hard,
Smiled there against his father, like a knight
Baptized on Cressy field or Bannockburn.

A moment gone,
Into our paradise from Acheron,
With imperceptive sorcery crawled ashore
Odours unnamable: an exhalation
Of men and ships in oozy graves. (Ah, cease,
Derisive nereids! cease:
Be it enough, that even ye can pour,
From crystal flagons of your ancient peace,
So strange obscene libation.)
But with the thunder-peal
Sprang the pure winds, their thurible swung wide,
To chase that tainted tide;
Fresh from the pastures and the cedar-grove,
They rode the copper ridges of the main,
And bared a league of distance to reveal
A sail, aslant, astrain,
Impetuous for the cove;
And tossing after, panic-stricken,
Another, and a third: white spirits, fain to sicken,
Nor out of natural harm salvation gain.

The selfsame hunter winds that drave
The horror down, as faithful-hearted drew
The sad clouds from their carnage, and up-piled
Their rebel gonfalons, or jocund threw
Their cannon in the wave;
And subtly, with a parting whisper, gave
An eve most mild:
A sunset like a prayer, a world all rose and blue:

A good world, as it was,
And as it shall be: clear circumferent space,
Where punctual yet, for worship of their Cause,
The stars came thick in choir.
Sleep had our Everard in her cool embrace,
Else from his cot he hardly need have stooped
To see (and laugh to see!) the headland pine
Embossed on changing fire:
For close behind it, cooped
Within a smallest span,
In fury, to and fro and round and round,
The routed leopards of the lightning ran:
Bright, bright, inside their dungeon-bars, malign
They ran; and ran till dawn, without a sound.

_Open, Time_

OPEN, Time, and let him pass
Shortly where his feet would be!
Like a leaf at Michaelmas
Swooning from the tree,

Ere its hour the manly mind
Trembles in a sure decrease,
Nor the body now can find
Any hold on peace.

Take him, weak and overworn;
Fold about his dying dream
Boyhood, and the April morn,
And the rolling stream:

Weather on a sunny ridge,
Showery weather, far from here;
Under some deep-ivied bridge,
Water rushing clear:

Water quick to cross and part
(Golden light on silver sound),
Weather that was next his heart
All the world around!

Soon upon his vision break
These, in their remembered blue;
He shall toil no more, but wake
Young, in air he knew.

He hath done with roofs and men.
Open, Time, and let him pass,
Vague and innocent again,
Into country grass.

_The Knight Errant_

(_Donatello's Saint George_)

SPIRITS of old that bore me,
And set me, meek of mind,
Between great dreams before me,
And deeds as great behind,
Knowing humanity my star
As first abroad I ride,
Shall help me wear with every scar
Honour at eventide.

Let claws of lightning clutch me
From summer's groaning cloud,
Or ever malice touch me,
And glory make me proud.
Oh, give my youth, my faith, my sword,
Choice of the heart's desire:
A short life in the saddle, Lord!
Not long life by the fire.

Forethought and recollection
Rivet mine armour gay!
The passion for perfection
Redeem my failing way!
The arrows of the upper slope
From sudden ambush cast,
Rain quick and true, with one to ope
My Paradise at last!

I fear no breathing bowman,
But only, east and west,
The awful other foeman
Impowered in my breast.
The outer fray in the sun shall be,
The inner beneath the moon;
And may Our Lady lend to me
Sight of the Dragon soon!

_To a Dog's Memory_

THE gusty morns are here,
When all the reeds ride low with level spear;
And on such nights as lured us far of yore,
Down rocky alleys yet, and through the pine,
The Hound-star and the pagan Hunter shine:
But I and thou, ah, field-fellow of mine,
Together roam no more.

Soft showers go laden now
With odours of the sappy orchard-bough,
And brooks begin to brawl along the march;
Steams the late frost from hollow sedges high;
The finch is come, the flame-blue dragonfly,
The marsh-born marigold that children spy,
The plume upon the larch.

There is a music fills
The oaks of Belmont and the Wayland hills
Southward to Dewing's little bubbly stream,--
The heavenly weather's call! Oh, who alive
Hastes not to start, delays not to arrive,
Having free feet that never felt a gyve
Weigh, even in a dream?

But thou, instead, hast found
The sunless April uplands underground,
And still, wherever thou art, I must be.
My beautiful! arise in might and mirth,
(For we were tameless travellers from our birth);
Arise against thy narrow door of earth,
And keep the watch for me.

_Memorial Day_

O DAY of roses and regret,
Kissing the old graves of our own!
Not to the slain love's lovely debt
Alone.

But jealous hearts that live and ache,
Remember; and while drums are mute,
Beneath your banners' bright outbreak,
Salute:

And say for us to lessening ranks
That keep the memory and the pride,
On whose thinned hair our tears and thanks
Abide,

Who from their saved Republic pass,
Glad with the Prince of Peace to dwell:
_Hail, dearest few! and soon, alas,
Farewell_.

_Romans in Dorset_

_A.D. MDCCCXCV_

A STUPOR on the heath,
And wrath along the sky;
Space everywhere; beneath
A flat and treeless wold for us, and darkest noon on high.

Sullen quiet below,
But storm in upper air!
A wind from long ago,
In mouldy chambers of the cloud had ripped an arras there,

And singed the triple gloom,
And let through, in a flame,
Crowned faces of old Rome:
Regnant o'er Rome's abandoned ground, processional they came.

Uprisen as any sun
Through vistas hollow grey,
Aloft, and one by one,
In brazen casques the Emperors loomed large, and sank away.

In ovals of wan light
Each warrior eye and mouth:
A pageant brutal bright
As if once over loudly passed Jove's laughter in the south;

And dimmer, these among,
Some cameo'd head aloof,
With ringlets heavy-hung,
Like yellow stonecrop comely grown around a castle roof.

An instant: gusts again,
Then heaven's impacted wall,
The hot insistent rain,
The thunder-shock; and of the Past mirage no more at all,

No more the alien dream
Pursuing, as we went,
With glory's cursèd gleam:
Nor sin of Cæsar's ruined line engulfed us, innocent.

The vision great and dread
Corroded; sole in view
Was empty Egdon spread,
Her crimson summer weeds ashake in tempest: but we knew

What Tacitus had borne
In that wrecked world we saw;
And what, thine heart uptorn,
My Juvenal! distraught with love of violated Law.

_Horologion_

THE frost may form apace,
The roses pine away:
Nomæa! if I see thy face,
Then is the summer day.

A word of thine, a breath,
And lo! my joy shall seem
To peer far down where life and death
Stir like a forded stream;

Or else shall misery sound
And travel in that hour
All utmost things in their shut round,
As a bee feels his flower.

Thought lags and cries Alas,
Love ranges quick and free.
Oh, figured clock and sanded glass,
They mark no term for me.

And since I can but rue
The calendar gone wrong,
And dials never telling true
If dreams be short or long,

Dear, from these arts that fail
To thee I will repair.
Till the last eve dance down the gale
With no star in her hair,

Be thou my solar chime,
Be thou my wheel of night,
Be thy bright heart, not ashen Time,
My measure, law, and light.

_His Angel to his Mother_

WHAT would you do for your fairest one,
Wild as the wind and free as the sun,
Born a fugitive, sure to slip
Soon from secular ownership?
Men in search of the heart's desire,
Wearily trampling flood and fire,
Rove betimes into some abyss
Darker far than eternity's.
(Ah, the hazard! it awes one so!)

_And shall it be thus with the boy, or no?
Sweet, if you love him, let him go._

Happy the Frontier to have gained
Undetaining and undetained,
Quick and clean, like a solar ray
Shot through spindrift across the bay!
Men would follow a long vain quest,
Feed on ashes and forfeit rest,
Bleed with battle and flag with toil,
Only to stifle in desert soil.
(Ah, the failure! it stings one so!)

_And shall it be thus with the boy, or no?
Sweet, if you love him, let him go._

Vats fill up, and the sheaves are in:
Never a blessing is left to win
Save for the myrtle coronal
Round the urn at the end of all.
Men will clutch, as they clutched of old,
Souring honey or dimming gold,
Not the treasure-trove of the land
Here shut fast in a roseleaf hand.
(Ah, the folly! it irks one so!)

_And shall it be thus with the boy, or no?
Sweet, if you love him, let him go._

_Autumn Magic_

SOON as divine September, flushing from sea to sea,
Peers from the whole wide upland into eternity,

Soft as an exhalation, ghosts of the thistle start:
Never a poet saw them but ached in his baffled heart.

Gossamer armies rising thicker than snowflakes fall,
Waken in blood and marrow, aware of the unheard call.

Oh, what a nameless urging through avenues laid in air,
Hints of escape, unbodied, intricate, everywhere,

Sense of a feared denial, or access hard to be won;
Gleams of a dubious gesture for guesses to feed upon!

Flame goes flying in heaven, the down on the cool hillside:
Earth is a bride-veil glory to show and conceal the Bride.

_Five Carols for Christmastide_

I

THE OX he openeth wide the Doore,
And from the Snowe he calls her inne,
And he hath seen her Smile therefor,
Our Ladye without Sinne.
Now soone from Sleep
A Starre shall leap,
And soone arrive both King and Hinde:
_Amen, Amen_:
But O, the Place co'd I but finde!

The Ox hath hush'd his voyce and bent
Trewe eyes of Pitty ore the Mow,
And on his lovelie Neck, forspent,
The Blessed layes her Browe.
Around her feet
Full Warme and Sweete
His bowerie Breath doth meeklie dwell:
_Amen, Amen_:
But sore am I with Vaine Travèl!

The Ox is host in Judah stall
And Host of more than onelie one,
For close she gathereth withal
Our Lorde her littel Sonne.
Glad Hinde and King
Their Gyfte may bring,
But wo'd to-night my Teares were there,
_Amen, Amen_:
Between her Bosom and His hayre!

II

VINES branching stilly
Shade the open door,
In the house of Zion's Lily,
Cleanly and poor.
Oh, brighter than wild laurel
The Babe bounds in her hand,
The King, who for apparel
Hath but a swaddling-band,
And sees her heavenlier smiling than stars in His command!

Soon, mystic changes
Part Him from her breast,
Yet there awhile He ranges
Gardens of rest:
Yea, she the first to ponder
Our ransom and recall,
Awhile may rock Him under
Her young curls' fall,
Against that only sinless love-loyal heart of all.

What shall inure Him
Unto the deadly dream,
When the Tetrarch shall abjure Him,
The thief blaspheme,
And scribe and soldier jostle
About the shameful tree,
And even an Apostle
Demand to touch and see?--
But she hath kissed her Flower where the Wounds are to be.

III

THREE without slumber ride from afar,
Fain of the roads where palaces are;
All by a shed as they ride in a row,
"Here!" is the cry of their vanishing Star.

First doth a greybeard, glittering fine,
Look on Messiah in slant moonshine:
"_This have I bought for Thee!_" Vainly: for lo,
Shut like a fern is the young hand divine.

Next doth a magian, mantled and tall,
Bow to the Ruler that reigns from a stall:
"_This have I sought for Thee!_" Though it be rare,
Loath little fingers are letting it fall.

Last doth a stripling, bare in his pride,
Kneel by the Lover as if to abide:
"_This have I wrought for Thee!_" Answer him there
Laugh of a Child, and His arms opened wide.

IV

WAS a Soule from farre away
Stood wistful in the Hay,
And of the Babe a-sleeping hadde a sight:
Neither reck'd hee any more
Men behind him and before,
Nor a thousand busie Winges, flitting light:
But in middle of the night
This few-worded wight
(_Yule! Yule!_)
Bespake Our Ladye bright:

"Fill mee, ere my corage faints,
With the lore of all the Saints:
Harte to harte against my Brother let mee be.
By the Fountaines that are His
I wo'd slumber where Hee is:
Prithee, Mother, give the other Brest to mee!"
The Soule that none co'd see
She hath taken on her knee:
(_Yule! Yule!_)
Sing prayse to Our Ladye.

V

_The Ox and the Ass,
Tell aloud of them:
Sing their pleasure as it was
In Bethlehem._

STILL as blowing rose, sudden as a sword,
Maidenly the Maiden bare Jesu Christ the Lord;
Yet for very lowlihood, such a Guest to greet,
Goeth in a little swoon while kissing of His feet.

Mary, drifted snow on the earthen floor,
Joseph, fallen wondrous weak now he would adore,--
(Oh, the surging might of love! Oh, the drowning bliss!)
Both are rapt to Heaven and lose their human Heaven that is.

From the Newly Born trails a lonely cry.
With a mind to heed, the Ox turns a glowing eye;
In the empty byre the Ass thinks her heart to blame:
Up for comforting of God the beasts of burden came,

Softly to inquire, thrusting as for cheer
There between the tender hands, furry faces dear.
Blessing on the honest coats! tawny coat and grey
Friended Our Delight so well when warmth had strayed away.

Crooks are on the sill; sceptres sail the wave;
All the hopes of all the years are thronging to the Cave.
Mother slept not long, nor long Father's sense was dim,
But another twain the while stood parent-wise to Him.

_The Ox and the Ass,
Be you glad for them
Such a moment came to pass
In Bethlehem!_

_On Leaving Winchester_

WINTON, my window with a mossy marge,
My lofty oriel, whence the soul hath sight
Of passionate yesterdays, all gold and large,
Arisen to enrich our narrow night:
Though others bless thee, who so blest before
Hath pastured from the violent time apart,
And laved in supersensual light the heart
Alone with thy magnificent No More?

Sweet court of roses now, sweet camp of bees!
The hills that lean to thy white bed at dawn
Hear, for the clash of raging dynasties,
Laughter of boys about a branchy lawn.
Hast thou a stain, let ivy cover all;
Nor seem of greatness disinhabited
While spirits in their wonted splendour tread
From close to close, by Wolvesey's idle wall.

Bright fins against thy lucid waters leap,
And nigh thy towers the nesting ring-doves dwell;
Be lenient winter, and long moons, and sleep
Upon thee; but on me the sharp Farewell.
Happy art thou, O clad and crowned with rest!
Happy the shepherd (would that I were he!)
Whose early way is step for step with thee,
Whose old brow fades on thine immortal breast.

_Cobwebs_

WHO would not praise thee, miracle of Frost?
Some gesture overnight, some breath benign,
And lo! the tree's a fountain all a-shine,
The hedge a throne of unimagined cost;
In wheel and fan along a wall embossed,
The spider's humble handiwork shows fine
With jewels girdling every airy line:
Though the small mason in the cold be lost.

Web after web, a morning snare of bliss
Starring with beauty the whole neighbourhood,
May well beget an envy clean and good.
When man goes too into the earth-abyss,
And God in His altered garden walks, I would
My secret woof might gleam so fair as this.

_Astræa_

SINCE I avail no more, O men! with you,
I will go back unto the gods content;
For they recall me, long with earth inblent,
Lest lack of faith divinity undo.
I served you truly while I dreamed you true,
And golden pains with sovereign pleasure spent:
But now, farewell! I take my sad ascent,
With failure over all I nursed and knew.

Are ye unwise, who would not let me love you?
Or must too bold desires be quieted?
Only to ease you, never to reprove you,
I will go back to heaven with heart unfed:
Yet sisterly I turn, I bend above you,
To kiss (ah, with what sorrow!) all my dead.

_The Yew-Tree_

AS I came homeward
At merry Christmas,
By the old Church tower
Through the Churchyard grass,

And saw there circled
With graves all about,
The Yew-tree paternal,
The Yew-tree devout,

Then this hot life-blood
Was hard to endure,
O Death! so I loved thee,
The sole love sure.

For stars slip in heaven,
They wander, they break;
But under the Yew-tree
Not one heartache.

And ours, what failure
Renewed and avowed!
But ah, the long-buried
Is leal, and is proud.

* * * * *

At eve, o'erlooking
The smooth chilly tide,
With age-hidden meaning
The Yew-tree sighed,

By the square grey tower,
In the short grey grass,
As I came homeward
At merry Christmas.

_Ten Colloquies_

I. THE SEARCH

"WHY dost thou hide from these
Out along the hills halloaing?
Why hast forbade
Thy face, O goddess! to thy votaries?"

"_Unasking and unknowing
Is he whom I make glad,
Like Dian grandly going
To the sleeping shepherd-lad.
Men that pursue learn not
To follow is my lot._"

"Happiness, secret one,
Heartbeat of the April weather,
Where art thou found?
Tell; lest I err too, yonder in the sun."

"_Call in thine eye from ether,
Thy feet from far ground;
Seek Honour in this heather,
With austere purples wound.
Serve her: she will reveal
Me, hound-like at thy heel._"

II. FACT AND THE MYSTIC

"GOOD-MORROW, Symbol."--"_Call me not
The name I neither love nor merit._"
--"That grave eternal name inherit,
Thine ever, though all men forgot."

"_Mistake me not; secure and free
From rock to rock my falchion passes:
But Symbols trail through grey morasses
The tattered shows of faëry._"

"My Symbol thou, of phantom blood,
With starlight from thy temples raying;
Along thy floated body playing
Are withering wings, and wings in bud."

"_Alas, thine eye with clay is sealed._"
--"Symbol, before the clay's denial,
While yet I had a god's espial,
I saw thee in a solar field!"

"_Nay: I am Fact._"--"Then lose thy praise;
And lest to-day no song behoove thee,
Lest mine impeach thee, or reprove thee,
Ah, Symbol, Symbol! go thy ways."