Before the beginning of years There came to the making of man Time, with a gift of tears; Grief, with a glass that ran; Pleasure, with pain for leaven! Summer, with flowers that fell; Remembrance fallen from heaven, And madness risen from hell; Strength without hands to smite: Love that endures for a breath; Night, the shadow of light, And life the shadow of death. And the high gods took in hand Fire, and the falling of tears, And a measure of sliding sand From under the feet of the years: And froth and drift of the sea; And dust of the labouring earth; And bodies of things to be In the houses of death and of birth; And wrought with weeping and laughter, And fashioned with loathing and love. With life before and after, And death beneath and above, For a day and a night and a morrow, That his strength might endure for a span With travail and heavy sorrow, The holy spirit of man. For the winds of the north and the south They gathered as into strife; They breathed upon his mouth, They filled his body with life; Eyesight and speech they wrought For the veils of the soul therein, A time for labour and thought, A time to serve and to sin; They gave him light in his ways, And love, and a space for delight, And beauty and length of days, And night, and sleep in the night. His speech is a burning fire; With his lips he travaileth; In his heart is a blind desire, In his eyes foreknowledge of death; He weaves, and is clothed with derision; Sows, and he shall not reap; His life is a watch or a vision Between a sleep and a sleep. * * * * * A. C. SWINBURNE. ―――― AMERICAN PARODY. Before the beginning of years, There went to the making of man Nine tailors with their shears, A coupe and a tiger and span, Umbrellas and neckties and canes, An ulster, a coat, and all that―― But the crowning glory remains, His last best gift was his hat. And the mad hatters took in hand Skins of the beaver, and felt, And straw from the isthmus land, And silk and black bear’s pelt: And wrought with prophetic passion, Designed on the newest plan, They made in the height of fashion The hat for the wearing of man. ―――― A POET’S VALENTINE. Before the beginning of post There came to the making of love Rhyme and of follies a host; Ducks with a dart and a dove; Flow’rs with initials beneath, Cupid conceal’d in a cell, Lovers alone on a heath. A Parson pulling a bell. Follies all fetched afar, Mirth for a maid and a man, Jokes that jingle and jar, And lines refusing to scan.