"Ye have made your choice, and the better part,
Ye chose" she said, "and the wiser art;
In the wild May night drank all the measure,
The perfect pleasure of heart and heart.
"Ye shall walk no more with the May," she said,
"Shall your love endure though the Gods be dead?
Shall the flitting flocks, mine own, my chosen,
Sing as of old, and be happy and wed?
"Yea, they are glad as of old; but you,
Fair and fleet as the dawn or the dew,
Abide no more, for the springs are frozen,
And fled the Gods that ye loved and knew.
Ye shall never know Summer again like this;
Ye shall play no more with the Fauns, I wis,
No more in the nymphs' and dryads' playtime
Shall echo and answer kiss and kiss.
"Though the flowers in your golden hair be bright,
Your golden hair shall be waste and white
On faded brows ere another May time
Bring the spring, but no more delight."
HOMERIC UNITY
The sacred keep of Ilion is rent
By shaft and pit; foiled waters wander slow
Through plains where Simois and Scamander went
To war with Gods and heroes long ago.
Not yet to tired Cassandra, lying low
In rich Mycenae, do the Fates relent:
The bones of Agamemnon are a show,
And ruined is his royal monument.
The dust and awful treasures of the Dead,
Hath Learning scattered wide, but vainly thee,
Homer, she meteth with her tool of lead,
And strives to rend thy songs; too blind to see
The crown that burns on thine immortal head
Of indivisible supremacy!
IN TINTAGEL
LUI.
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