FRANCES BANNERMAN
But through all the joy I knew I only How the hostel of my heart lay bare and cold,
Silent of its music, and how lonely'
Never, though you crown me with your gold, Shall I find that little chamber as of old'
��STEPHEN PHILLIPS The A-pfarition
MY dead Love came to me, and said: 'God gives me one hour's rest To spend upon the earth with thee: How shall we spend it best ? '
'Why, as of old,' I said, and so
We quarrell'd as of old. But when I turn'd to make my peace
That one short hour was told.
��RUDYARD KIPLING 898 L'Envoi
THERE 's a whisper down the field where the year has shot her yield
And the ricks stand gray to the sun, Singing* 'Over then, come over, for the bee has quit the
clover And your English summer J s done.'
�� �
