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"No formless Future blurs the sky;
In one unwearying To-Day,
At "Heaven" she ceased ;-and lifted up
With rounded mouth, and eyes aglow;
The lit leaves laughed,―sky shook, and lo, I swooned, and woke.
And now, O Flowers,
-Ye that indeed are dead,—
Well am I comforted;
That, without dim distress
My Lady, verily, awaiteth me;
For my dear Lady's sake
And, in the holding of my dear Love's hand,
THE DYING OF TANNEGUY DU BOIS.
"En los nidas antaño no hay pajaros hogaño." LAST WORDS OF DON QUIXOTE.
EA, I am passed away, I think, from this; Nor helps me herb, nor any leechcraft here, But lift me hither the sweet cross to kiss,
And witness ye, I go without a fear. Yea, I am sped, and never more shall see,
As once I dreamed, the show of shield and crest, Gone southward to the fighting by the sea ;— There is no bird in any last year's nest!
Yea, with me now all dreams are done, I ween,
Moving at morn on some Burgundian wall; And all things swim-as when the charger stands
Quivering between the knees, and East and West Are filled with flash of scarves and waving hands ;— There is no bird in any last year's nest!
Is she a dream I left in Acquitaine ?—
My wife Giselle,—who never spoke a word,
Although I knew her mouth was drawn with pain,
Her eyelids hung with tears; and though I heard
Ah! I had hoped, God wot,—had longed that she
Me, coming back again to her, Giselle;
The curly-pate, who, rushen lance in rest, Stormed at the lilies by the orchard wall;There is no bird in any last year's nest !
But how, my Masters, ye are wrapt in gloom!
This Death will come, and whom he loves he cleaves
Sheer through the steel and leather; hating whom He smites in shameful wise behind the greaves. 'Tis a fair time with Dennis and the Saints,
And weary work to age, and want for rest, When harness groweth heavy, and one faints, With no bird left in any last year's nest ! Give ye good hap, then, all. For me, I lie
Broken in Christ's sweet hand, with whom shall rest
To keep me living, now that I must die ;—
There is no bird in any last year's nest!
THE MOSQUE OF THE CALIPH.
ΝΤΟ Seyd the vizier spake the Caliph Abdallah :"Now hearken and hear, I am weary, by Allah! I am faint with the mere over-running of leisure; I will rouse me and rear up a palace to Pleasure !"
To Abdallah the Caliph spake Seyd the vizier :
Drained out the last bead of the wine in the chalice: "I have spoken, O Seyd; I will build it, my palace!
Then the Caliph that heard, with becoming sedateness, Drew his hand down his beard as he thought of his great
"As a drop from the wine where the wine-cup hath spilled it,
As a gem from the mine, O my Seyd, I will build it; Without price, without flaw, it shall stand for a token That the word is a law which the Caliph hath spoken!"