Gentlest of critics, does your memory hold (I know it does) a record of the days When I, a schoolboy, earned your generous praise For halting verse and stories crudely told? Over those boyish scrawls the years have rolled, They might not bear the world’s unfriendly gaze, But still your smile shines down familiar ways, Touches my words and turns their dross to gold. Dearer to-day than in that happy time Comes your high praise to make me proud and strong. In my poor notes you hear Love’s splendid chime So unto you does this, my work, belong. Take, then, this little book of fragile rhyme; Your heart will change it to authentic song. * * * * * _To A. K. K._ AUGUST THE FOURTH NINETEEN HUNDRED AND ELEVEN Now the English larks are singing, And the English meadows flinging Scarlet flags of blazing poppies to the fragrant summer air, And from every tower and steeple All the wondering English people Hear a chime of fairy music, though no bell-ringers are there. What has caused this jubilation? Days ago the coronation Went with jewelled pomp and splendour to the country of the past. Is the land some Saint’s Day hailing? Or has some tall ship gone sailing Through the hostile fleet to triumph, with the Union at her mast? Nay, it is no warlike glory, Nor pale saint, of ancient story, That has made the island blossom into beauty rare and new. We in this sea-severed nation, Share with England our elation, As we keep this feast, your birthday, and are glad with love for you! * * * * * “WHITE HORSE” OF KILBURN TO A. K. K. ON HER BIRTHDAY, 1912 Last night the beat of hoofs was heard upon the shaded street, It broke the silent brooding of the peaceful countryside; I looked and saw a horse that stamped its terrible white feet, A giant horse, as white as flame, long maned and starry-eyed. “Who is this monstrous visitant?” said I, “Bucephalus? Or Rosinante, looking for another crazy Knight? Or (not to be conceited) may it not be Pegasus? This mighty horse, this glowing horse, so beautiful and white.” He proudly tossed his noble head, and neighed, “Across the foam My stable lies, with clouds for roof, and mountainous green walls; I come to take your message unto Her, who near my home Will hold her Birthday feast before another evening falls.” “Go back, O Horse,” I said, “and seek your pleasant dwelling-place, And here’s a gift for you to take, I trust it to your care; Support this heavy load of love until you see her face, Then humbly kneel before her feet and lay my homage there.”