Myself did linger by the ragged beach,
Whereat wave after wave did rise and curl;
And as they fell, they fell--I saw them hurl
A message far more eloquent than speech:


XII

_We that with song our pilgrimage beguile,
With purple islands which a sunset bore,
We, sunk upon the sacrilegious shore,
May parley with oblivion awhile_.


XIII

I would not have you keep nor idly flaunt
What may be gathered from the gracious land,
But I would have you sow with sleepless hand
The virtues that will balance your account.


XIV

The days are dressing all of us in white,
For him who will suspend us in a row.
But for the sun there is no death. I know
The centuries are morsels of the night.