The elms with arms of love wrapped us in shade Who watched the ecstatic West with one desire, One soul uprapt; and still another fire Consumed us, and our joy yet greater made: That Bach should sing for us, mix us in one The joy of firelight and the sunken sun. HAIL AND FAREWELL THE destined bullet wounded him, They brought him down to die, Far-off a bugle sounded him “Retreat,” Good-bye. Strange, that from ways so hated, And tyranny so hard Should come this strangely fated And farewell word. He thought, “Some Old Sweat might Have thrilled at heart to hear, Gone down into the night Too proud to fear! But I--the fool at arms, Musician, poet to boot, Who hail release; what charms In this salute?” He smiled--“The latest jest That time on me shall play.” And watched the dying west, Went out with the day. PRAISE O friends of mine, if men mock at my name, Say “Children loved him.” Since by that word you will have far removed him From any bitter shame. WINTER BEAUTY I CANNOT live with Beauty out of mind; I seek her and desire her all the day, Being the chiefest treasure man may find, And word most sweet his eager lips can say. She is as strong on me as though I wandered In Severn meadows some blue riotous day. But since the trees have long since lost their green, And I, an exile, can but dream of things Grown magic in the mind, I watch the sheen Of frost and hear the song Orion sings, And hear the star-born passion of Beethoven; Man’s consolations sung on the quivering strings. Beauty of song remembered, sunset glories, Mix in my mind, till I not care nor know Whether the stars do move me, golden stories, Or ruddy Cotswold in the sunset glow. I am uprapt, and not my own, immortal, ... In winds of Beauty swinging to and fro. Beauty immortal, not to be hid, desire Of all men, each in his fashion, give me the strong Thirst past satisfaction for thee, and fire Not to be quenched.... O lift me, bear me along, Touch me, make me worthy that men may seek me For Beauty, Mistress Immortal, Healer of Wrong. SONG OF PAIN AND BEAUTY [_To_ M. M. S.] O MAY these days of pain, These wasted-seeming days, Somewhere reflower again With scent and savour of praise. Draw out of memory all bitterness Of night with Thy sun’s rays. And strengthen Thou in me The love of men here found, And eager charity, That, out of difficult ground, Spring like flowers in barren deserts, or Like light, or a lovely sound. A simpler heart than mine Might have seen beauty clear Where I could see no sign Of Thee, but only fear. Strengthen me, make me to see Thy beauty always In every happening here.