Eternal Father, who didst all create, In whom we live, and to whose bosom move, To all men be Thy name known, which is Love, Till its loud praises sound at heaven's high gate. Perfect Thy kingdom in our passing state, That here on earth Thou may'st as well approve Our service, as Thou ownest theirs above, Whose joy we echo and in pain await. Grant body and soul each day their daily bread: And should in spite of grace fresh woe begin, Even as our anger soon is past and dead Be Thy remembrance mortal of our sin: By Thee in paths of peace Thy sheep be led, And in the vale of terror comforted. [Illustration: Robert Bridges] SHORTER POEMS _in Five Books_ _PREVIOUS EDITIONS_ 1. _Bks. I-IV. Clarendon Press. Geo. Bell & Sons, Oct. 1890._ _Reprinted, Nov. 1890, 1891, 1894._ 2. _Bks. I-V. Private Press of H. Daniel. Oxford, 1894._ 3. _Do. do. Clarendon Press. George Bell & Sons, 1896._ 4. _Cheap issue of 3. 1899. Reprinted, 1899._ 5. _Poetical works of R. B. Smith, Elder & Co., 1899, vol. II._ _An account of earlier issues of first four books is given in notes at end of 5._ SHORTER POEMS BOOK I DEDICATED TO H. E. W. 1 ELEGY Clear and gentle stream! Known and loved so long, That hast heard the song And the idle dream Of my boyish day; While I once again Down thy margin stray, In the selfsame strain Still my voice is spent, With my old lament And my idle dream, Clear and gentle stream! Where my old seat was Here again I sit, Where the long boughs knit Over stream and grass A translucent eaves: Where back eddies play Shipwreck with the leaves, And the proud swans stray, Sailing one by one Out of stream and sun, And the fish lie cool In their chosen pool. Many an afternoon Of the summer day Dreaming here I lay; And I know how soon, Idly at its hour, First the deep bell hums From the minster tower, And then evening comes, Creeping up the glade, With her lengthening shade, And the tardy boon Of her brightening moon. Clear and gentle stream! Ere again I go Where thou dost not flow, Well does it beseem Thee to hear again Once my youthful song, That familiar strain Silent now so long: Be as I content With my old lament And my idle dream, Clear and gentle stream. 2 ELEGY The wood is bare: a river-mist is steeping The trees that winter's chill of life bereaves: Only their stiffened boughs break silence, weeping Over their fallen leaves; That lie upon the dank earth brown and rotten, Miry and matted in the soaking wet: Forgotten with the spring, that is forgotten By them that can forget.