They have been and are not: no more
Shall the shepherds drive silvery flocks,
Nor the ladies their languors deplore, -
They are all in the Fourpenny Box!

And the Music! The songs and the dances?
The tunes that Time may not restore?
And the tomes where Divinity prances?
And the pamphlets where Heretics roar?
They have ceased to be even a bore, -
The Divine, and the Sceptic who mocks, -
They are "cropped," they are "foxed" to the core, -
They are all in the Fourpenny Box!

ENVOY

Suns beat on them; tempests downpour,
On the chest without cover or locks,
Where they lie by the Bookseller's door, -
They are ALL in the Fourpenny Box!



[Greek title]



I would my days had been in other times,
A moment in the long unnumbered years
That knew the sway of Horus and of hawk,