And sowed this harvest of the plain,
_And we return no more_.
Lay spears about the Ruddy Fox!
The days of old are o'er;
Heave sword about the Running Ox!
_For we return no more._





HOPE DIETH: LOVE LIVETH


Strong are thine arms, O love, and strong
Thine heart to live, and love, and long;
But thou art wed to grief and wrong:
Live, then, and long, though hope be dead!
Live on, and labour through the years!
Make pictures through the mist of tears,
Of unforgotten happy fears,
That crossed the time ere hope was dead.
Draw near the place where once we stood
Amid delight's swift-rushing flood,
And we and all the world seemed good
Nor needed hope now cold and dead.
Dream in the dawn I come to thee
Weeping for things that may not be!
Dream that thou layest lips on me!
Wake, wake to clasp hope's body dead!