A Century of Roundels | Page 9

balm, nor spice.
Love can think of nought but love to bring
Fit to serve or do him
sacrifice
Ere his eyes have looked upon the spring
Three times thrice.
II.
Three times thrice the world has fallen on slumber,
Shone and waned
and withered in a trice,
Frost has fettered Thames and Tyne and
Humber
Three times thrice,
Fogs have swoln too thick for steel to slice,
Cloud and mud have
soiled with grime and umber
Earth and heaven, defaced as souls with
vice,
Winds have risen to wreck, snows fallen to cumber,
Ships and
chariots, trapped like rats or mice,
Since my king first smiled, whose
years now number
Three times thrice.
III.
Three times thrice, in wine of song full-flowing,
Pledge, my heart, the
child whose eyes suffice,
Once beheld, to set thy joy-bells going
Three times thrice.

Not the lands of palm and date and rice
Glow more bright when
summer leaves them glowing,
Laugh more light when suns and winds
entice.
Noon and eve and midnight and cock-crowing,
Child whose love
makes life as paradise,
Love should sound your praise with clarions
blowing
Three times thrice.
NOT A CHILD
I.
'Not a child: I call myself a boy,'
Says my king, with accent stern yet
mild,
Now nine years have brought him change of joy;
'Not a child.'
How could reason be so far beguiled,
Err so far from sense's safe
employ,
Stray so wide of truth, or run so wild?
Seeing his face bent over book or toy,
Child I called him, smiling: but
he smiled
Back, as one too high for vain annoy -
Not a child.
II.
Not a child? alack the year!
What should ail an undefiled
Heart, that
he would fain appear
Not a child?
Men, with years and memories piled
Each on other, far and near,

Fain again would so be styled:

Fain would cast off hope and fear,
Rest, forget, be reconciled:
Why
would you so fain be, dear,
Not a child?
III.
Child or boy, my darling, which you will,
Still your praise finds heart
and song employ,
Heart and song both yearning toward you still,
Child or boy.
All joys else might sooner pall or cloy
Love than this which inly
takes its fill,
Dear, of sight of your more perfect joy.
Nay, be aught you please, let all fulfil
All your pleasure; be your
world your toy:
Mild or wild we love you, loud or still,
Child or boy.
TO DORA DORIAN
Child of two strong nations, heir
Born of high-souled hope that
smiled,
Seeing for each brought forth a fair
Child,
By thy gracious brows, and wild
Golden-clouded heaven of hair,

By thine eyes elate and mild,
Hope would fain take heart to swear
Men should yet be reconciled,

Seeing the sign she bids thee bear,
Child.
THE ROUNDEL

A roundel is wrought as a ring or a starbright sphere,
With craft of
delight and with cunning of sound unsought,
That the heart of the
hearer may smile if to pleasure his ear
A roundel is wrought.
Its jewel of music is carven of all or of aught -
Love, laughter, or
mourning--remembrance of rapture or fear - That fancy may fashion to
hang in the ear of thought.
As a bird's quick song runs round, and the hearts in us hear Pause
answer to pause, and again the same strain caught,
So moves the
device whence, round as a pearl or tear,
A roundel is wrought.
AT SEA
'Farewell and adieu' was the burden prevailing
Long since in the
chant of a home-faring crew;
And the heart in us echoes, with
laughing or wailing,
Farewell and adieu.
Each year that we live shall we sing it anew,
With a water untravelled
before us for sailing
And a water behind us that wrecks may bestrew.
The stars of the past and the beacons are paling,
The heavens and the
waters are hoarier of hue:
But the heart in us chants not an all
unavailing
Farewell and adieu.
WASTED LOVE
What shall be done for sorrow

With love whose race is run?
Where help is none to borrow,
What shall be done?
In vain his hands have spun
The web, or drawn the furrow:
No rest their toil hath won.
His task is all gone thorough,
And fruit thereof is none:
And who dare say to-morrow
What shall be done?
BEFORE SUNSET
Love's twilight wanes in heaven above,
On earth ere twilight reigns:
Ere fear may feel the chill thereof,
Love's twilight wanes.
Ere yet the insatiate heart complains
'Too much, and scarce enough,'
The lip so late athirst refrains.
Soft on the neck of either dove
Love's hands let slip the reins:
And while we look for light of love
Love's twilight wanes.
A SINGING LESSON
Far-fetched and dear-bought, as the proverb rehearses,
Is good, or
was held so, for ladies: but nought
In a song can be good if the turn of
the verse is

Far-fetched and dear-bought.
As the turn of a wave should it sound, and the thought
Ring smooth,
and as light as the spray that disperses
Be the gleam of the words