Bristol, that blue-eyed sailor-man, who sallied Forth to adventure, latterly has grown A merchant-prince, respectable, pot-bellied. Winchcombe--poor pagan queen--doth lack a throne. Ciceter keeps her soul, but she alone: For Tewkesbury’s soul is in a pewter-pot, And Cheltenham never had one of her own. Old Gloucester reigns the king of all the lot! L’ENVOY Prince, you have travelled far and wide, and seen Much nicer towns than these? “All Tommy rot!” (“Your Royal Highness surely jests,” I mean.) Old Gloucester reigns the king of all the lot! LUCKY Lucky to live, Lucky again To have met and marched With the finest men (So I believe) Earth ever bred Since heaven was arched.... _But they are dead._ Lucky to love, Most lucky to Have loved, of all I might have, you Whom Time doth prove Most tender-hearted And beautiful.... _But we are parted._ CAROL Sing lullaby, sing lullaby, While snow doth softly fall, Sing lullaby to Jesus Born in an oxen-stall. Sing lullaby to Jesus, Born now in Bethlehem, The naked blackthorn’s growing To weave His diadem. Sing lullaby, sing lullaby, While thickly snow doth fall, Sing lullaby to Jesus The Saviour of all. GOD’S BEAUTY IN THE SKY God’s beauty in the sky, And in a silver cloud: Everywhere in the world His beauty cries aloud. But why should I talk of it? Let me drink it up As now I drink this cider From a big blue cup! THE LOST WORLD What hues, what dances Do I remember Lighter than leaves dancing And red November? Why does my heart whisper Under the trees, “There are brighter colours and lighter Dancers than these”? What dream more golden In firelight hovers Than these faces of friends And trusty lovers? Why does my heart whisper In this gay peace, “There are bolder lovers and older Comrades than these”? _PROSE POEMS_ DAWN ARISE!--ARISE! Dew, like a thousand gems, is in the hair of the dear earth eager to dance. THE VISIBLE WORLD Rub your eyes! If a man believe not in earth, how should he believe in heaven? If he love not the visible, how should he its high symbol? FUEL You are burning me in a flame whereat starved men and women may warm themselves. But you are angry that the winds blow my ashes into your eyes. BLOW, INVISIBLE MOUTHS! Did God blow upon a reed (having cut it to His mind), what melodies might not be piped!--what news of glorious birth! To you, beloved Dead, I give my life that is but a reed. Blow, blow, invisible mouths of God! ANGRY LOVER Before God’s throne came the angry lover. “I am betrayed!” he cried, and the courts of Heaven rang again with the sound of the word. “Thy daughter Life have I wooed. For her have I given all--yea, all--since that is the price of love, and now, behold, Thou hast given me her dark sister, Death!”