And drives me where I go.



FROM ALCUIN.


The sea is the road of the bold,
Frontier of the wheat-sown plains,
The pit wherein the streams are rolled,
And fountain of the rains.



EXCELSIOR.


Over his head were the maple buds,
And over the tree was the moon,
And over the moon were the starry studs,
That drop from the angel's shoon.



BORROWING.
FROM THE FRENCH.


Some of your hurts you have cured,
And the sharpest you still have survived,