KATHARINE TYNAN HINKSON
All in the April evening,
April airs were abroad; I saw the sheep with their lambs,
And thought on the Lamb of God.
ARTHUR CHRISTOPHER BENSON
BY feathers green, across Casbeen The pilgrims track the Phoenix flown, By gems he strcw'd in waste and wood, And jewelPd plumes at random thrown:
Till wandering far, by moon and star, They stand beside the fruitful pyre,
Where breaking bright with sanguine light The impulsive bird forgets his sire.
Those ashes shine like ruby wine,
Like bag of Tyrian murex spilt, The claw, the jowl of the flying fowl
Are with the glorious anguish gilt.
So rare the light, so rich the sight, Those pilgrim men, on profit bent,
Drop hands and eyes and merchandise, And are with gazing most content.
NORMAN GALE L o
895 The Country Faith
rERE in the country's heart Where the grass is green, Life is the same sweet life As it e'er hath been.
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