Ceaselessly sowing,

Life, incorruptible life,

Flows from my seed-sheet.

Maker and breaker,

I am the ebb and the flood,

Here and Hereafter.

Sped through the tangle and coil

Of infinite nature,

Viewless and soundless I fashion all being.

Taker and giver,

I am the womb and the grave,

The Now and the Ever.

VI

PRAISE the generous gods for giving
In a world of wrath and strife,
With a little time for living,
Unto all the joy of life.

At whatever source we drink it,
Art or love or faith or wine,
In whatever terms we think it,
It is common and divine.

Praise the high gods, for in giving
This to man, and this alone,

They have made his chance of living

Shine the equal of their own.

1875

VII

FILL a glass with golden wine,
And the while your lips are wet
Set their perfume unto mine,
And forget,

Every kiss we take and give
Leaves us less of life to live.

Yet again! Your whim and mine
In a happy while have met.
All your sweets to me resign,
Nor regret

That we press with every breath,
Sighed or singing, nearer death.

VIII

WE'LL go no more a-roving by the light of the

moon.

November glooms are barren beside the dusk of

June.

The summer flowers are faded, the summer thoughts

are sere.

We'll go no more a-roving, lest worse befall, my dear.

We'll go no more a-roving by the light of the

moon.

The song we sang rings hollow, and heavy runs the tune.

Glad ways and words remembered would shame the wretched year.

We'll go no more a-roving, nor dream we did, my dear.

We'll go no more a-roving by the light of the

moon.

If yet we walk together, we need not shun the

noon.

No sweet thing left to savour, no sad thing left to

fear,

We'll go no more a-roving, but weep at home, my

dear.

1875