 | Weeping-Cross and Other Rimes by A. H. Bullen |  |
44
MID-MAY, 1918
I
It shall not me dismay
That I've grown old and grey;
Nor tell-tale glass I chide
That will not wrinkles hide:
That I've grown old and grey;
Nor tell-tale glass I chide
That will not wrinkles hide:
The visionary gold
That in my heart I hold,
Doth far in worth outshine
All metal from the mine.
That in my heart I hold,
Doth far in worth outshine
All metal from the mine.
II
Of folios I've a store:—
Angelic Henry More,
Lov'd Fuller (wittiest sage)
And Burton's magic page:
Angelic Henry More,
Lov'd Fuller (wittiest sage)
And Burton's magic page:
There Pliny, Plutarch stand,
Here's Hakewill to my hand
And thy once far-famed screed,
Apocalyptic Mede.
Here's Hakewill to my hand
And thy once far-famed screed,
Apocalyptic Mede.
45
III
But till the winter eves
Bide there, old printed leaves!
Here's Field o'th' Cloth of Gold
With buttercups untold:
Bide there, old printed leaves!
Here's Field o'th' Cloth of Gold
With buttercups untold:
Tall chesnut-candles flare,
Hawthorn makes rich the air,
And tireless cuckoo—hark!—
Calleth from dawn to dark. . . .
Hawthorn makes rich the air,
And tireless cuckoo—hark!—
Calleth from dawn to dark. . . .
| Weeping-Cross and Other Rimes by A. H. Bullen | |