Wind through charmed nights and magic days,
She being young.

She is so far from pain and death,
So warm her cheek, so sweet her breath
Glad words are all the words she saith,
She being young.

Seeing her face, it seems not far
To Troy's heroic field of war,
To Troy and all great things that are,
She being young.




Paul Jones



A century of silent suns
Have set since he was laid on sleep,
And now they bear with booming guns
And streaming banners o'er the deep
A withered skin and clammy hair
Upon a frame of human bones:
Whose corse? We neither know nor care,
Content to name it John Paul Jones.

His dust were as another's dust;