The Ballad of Prose and Rhyme (Ballade) The Dance of Death (Chant Royal) Toyo O you I sing, whom towns immure, And bonds of toil hold fast and sure ;To you across whose aching sight Come woodlands bathed in April light, And dreams of pastime premature. And you, O Sad, who still endure But most to you with eyelids pure, To you, with bird-like glances bright, To YOU I sing! |