Year by year, Adon—dear To Love’s Queen— Does not die! Wakes when green May is nigh! BALLADE OF THE GIRTON GIRL. SHE has just “put her gown on” at Girton, She is learned in Latin and Greek, But lawn tennis she plays with a skirt on That the prudish remark with a shriek. In her accents, perhaps, she is weak (Ladies _are_, one observes with a sigh), But in Algebra—_there_ she’s unique, But her forte’s to evaluate π. She can talk about putting a “spirt on” (I admit, an unmaidenly freak), And she dearly delighteth to flirt on A punt in some shadowy creek; Should her bark, by mischance, spring a leak, She can swim as a swallow can fly; She can fence, she can put with a cleek, But her forte’s to evaluate π. She has lectured on Scopas and Myrton, Coins, vases, mosaics, the antique, Old tiles with the secular dirt on, Old marbles with noses to seek. And her Cobet she quotes by the week, And she’s written on _κεν_ and on _καὶ_, And her service is swift and oblique, But her forte’s to evaluate π. ENVOY. Princess, like a rose is her cheek, And her eyes are as blue as the sky, And I’d speak, had I courage to speak, But—her forte’s to evaluate π. RONSARD’S GRAVE. YE wells, ye founts that fall From the steep mountain wall, That fall, and flash, and fleet With silver feet, Ye woods, ye streams that lave The meadows with your wave, Ye hills, and valley fair, Attend my prayer! When Heaven and Fate decree My latest hour for me, When I must pass away From pleasant day, I ask that none may break The marble for my sake, Wishful to make more fair My sepulchre. Only a laurel tree Shall shade the grave of me, Only Apollo’s bough Shall guard me now! Now shall I be at rest Among the spirits blest, The happy dead that dwell— Where,—who may tell? The snow and wind and hail May never there prevail, Nor ever thunder fall Nor storm at all. But always fadeless there The woods are green and fair, And faithful ever more Spring to that shore! There shall I ever hear Alcaeus’ music clear, And sweetest of all things There SAPPHO sings. SAN TERENZO. (The village in the bay of Spezia, near which Shelley was living before the wreck of the _Don Juan_.)