And there she sits so quiet in the light of the young moon, While the flowers are dead, and the fruits are dead along with the young life That someone sped to the depth of the last dim lagoon. But only the priest in the fields of youth hears the requiem guns of strife. And he knows that strife goes on and on, for ever on and on, While the harps of the world shall play no more, nor any more shall bring The maids and youths to laughter until that the end be won, And the eyes of men grow young again, and the heart of the world can sing. _B. EDWARDS_ (_LADY MARGARET HALL_) THE MAN WHO HAS FORGOTTEN TIME The ancient man who has forgotten time Walks seldom in the hurried city street, Where is the man who has forgotten time? For we so seldom meet-- Only sometimes on mornings after rain, When feathers from the passing wings of night Linger in wide sky spaces after rain, I see the strangest sight-- The houses by the river melt away, And there are paths between the silent trees, And all the city's uproar melts away Into the hum of bees. And by the water walks an ancient man, Who watches how the swift-tailed squirrels climb, And him I know to be the ancient man Who has forgotten time. I often meet him pacing on the hills, Or near flat marshy wastes where no one goes, But very seldom will he leave the hills Or sea-cliffs that he knows. And so I meet him rarely in the town, But I can always tell his face again, And sometimes I have seen him in the town At daybreak after rain. IN A CANOE (OXFORD) So many things you thought you knew Are different seen from a canoe: On either bank the grass is far Higher than other grasses are, And all the willows make a roof Fretted with branches--not aloof Like trees in gardens and in squares Which never hit you unawares. _RALPH W. W. FOX_ (_MAGDALEN_) LOVE WEEPING AMONG THE CROSSES Cupid has broken his bow, His arrows are shattered and lost. Oh, look at him, look at him now, His pinions trailing the dust! The beautiful boy is sad, The glory has left his glance, You would say he had never been glad, That his limbs did not know how to dance. Oh, look at him, look at him now, Hugging his broken bow, Forlornly he wanders about Dreaming forgotten things... Nobody heeds him now, Nobody hears if he sings. Once at his wanton play Everyone railed and laughed, But nobody laughs to-day For love is so far away.