of all the earth to slake.
Nay, thou too ere the end
Thy weary knee mayst bend
And in thy trembling hands that water take."

{121}

_In July_

His beauty bore no token,
No sign our gladness shook;
With tender strength unbroken
The hand of Life he took:
But the summer flowers were falling,
Falling and fading away,
And mother birds were calling,
Crying and calling
For their loves that would not stay.

He knew not Autumn's chillness,
Nor Winter's wind nor Spring's;
He lived with Summer's stillness
And sun and sunlit things:
But when the dusk was falling
He went the shadowy way,
And one more heart is calling,
Crying and calling
For the love that would not stay.

{122}

_From Generation to Generation_

O son of mine, when dusk shall find thee bending
Between a gravestone and a cradle's head--
Between the love whose name is loss unending
And the young love whose thoughts are liker dread,--
Thou too shalt groan at heart that all thy spending
Cannot repay the dead, the hungry dead.

{123}

_When I Remember_

When I remember that the day will come
For this our love to quit his land of birth,
And bid farewell to all the ways of earth
With lips that must for evermore be dumb,

Then creep I silent from the stirring hum,
And shut away the music and the mirth,
And reckon up what may be left of worth
When hearts are cold and love's own body numb.

Something there must be that I know not here,
Or know too dimly through the symbol dear;
Some touch, some beauty, only guessed by this--
If He that made us loves, it shall replace,
Beloved, even the vision of thy face
And deep communion of thine inmost kiss.

{124}

_Mors Janua_

Pilgrim, no shrine is here, no prison, no inn:
Thy fear and thy belief alike are fond:
Death is a gate, and holds no room within:
Pass--to the road beyond.

{125}

_Rondel_*

Though I wander far-off ways,
Dearest, never doubt thou me:

Mine is not the love that strays,
Though I wander far-off ways:

Faithfully for all my days
I have vowed myself to thee:
Though I wander far-off ways,
Dearest, never doubt thou me.

* This and the two following pieces are from the French of Wenceslas,
Duke of Brabant and Luxembourg, who died in 1384.

{126}

_Rondel_

Long ago to thee I