Afterwards .................................................... 61 Domum redit Poeta ............................................. 62 Memories ...................................................... 63 Intercessional ................................................ 64 April 1916 .................................................... 65 “Over the Hills and Hollows Green” ............................ 66 Sonnet ........................................................ 67 “O Long the Fiends of War shall dance” ........................ 68 For R. Q. G. .................................................. 69 “Sun and Shadow and Winds of Spring” .......................... 70 “Let us tell Quiet Stories of Kind Eyes” ...................... 71 “Save that Poetic Fire” ....................................... 72 The Burial of Sophocles ....................................... 73 “So we lay down the Pen” ...................................... 78 _If_ there be one among the Muses nine Loves not so much _Completion_ as _the Will_, And less the austere saint than the fond sinner: Loves scanty ruins, garlanded with years, Better than lofty palaces entire: To her I dedicate this spoiléd sheaf Of rime that scarcely came to harvesting. There is a window here in Magdalen Composite, methinks, of fragments that stark Mars Has scattered. Even so my verses be Composite of memories and half-uttered dreams Welded together sans due ordinance, Which might have been far other, but that Mars Scattered and harried them with his ruthless flail. I. Two Legends Glastonbury _Thither_ through moaning woods came Bedivere, At gloomy breaking of a winter’s day, Weary and travel-stained and sick at heart, With a great wound gotten in that last fray Ere he stood by, and watched the King depart Down the long, silent reaches of the mere: And all the earth was sad, and skies were drear, And the wind cried, and chased the relict leaves Like ships, that the storm-tossed ocean batters and heaves, And they fly before the gale, and the mariners fear. So he found at the last an hermitage Hard by a little hill, and sheltering trees That bent gaunt branches in the winter’s breeze; And he drew rein, and leant, and struck the door: Then presently came forth an hermit sage And helped him to dismount with labour sore: Straight went they in, but Bedivere being lame Stumbled against the open door, and swooned, And would have fallen, but the hermit caught And laid him gently down; then hurrying brought From a great chest a cordial, and came That he might drink, and so beheld his wound.