 | Mensae Secvndae |  |
30
Epilogue.
O Mother Oxford, unto whom we cry
Through all the passing loves and light desires
Of changing seasons; whom the toil that tires,
The years that sever, and the griefs that sigh,
Have no dominion over; who dost lie
Ever serene and fair, when morning fires
Thy silent pinnacles, or when thy spires
Stand flush'd with sunset in the evening sky:
Through all the passing loves and light desires
Of changing seasons; whom the toil that tires,
The years that sever, and the griefs that sigh,
Have no dominion over; who dost lie
Ever serene and fair, when morning fires
Thy silent pinnacles, or when thy spires
Stand flush'd with sunset in the evening sky:
Take in this dark November bare of flowers
Rough gleanings from the plashy meadow lands,
Not that our song but that thy face is sweet;
So be that for thy sake, if not for ours,
May find their place in no unkindly hands
These gifts we lay, O Mother, at thy feet.
Rough gleanings from the plashy meadow lands,
Not that our song but that thy face is sweet;
So be that for thy sake, if not for ours,
May find their place in no unkindly hands
These gifts we lay, O Mother, at thy feet.
| Mensae Secvndae | |