XLVII CROSSES and troubles a-many have proved me. One or two women (God bless them!) have loved me. I have worked and dreamed, and I've talked at will. I've comforted here, and I've succoured there. Come storm, come shine, whatever befall, 1888-1889 I Grave ST. MARGARET's bells, Quiring their innocent, old-world canticles, All rosy-and-golden, as with memories Of woods at evensong, and sands and seas O, the low, lingering lights! The large last gleam With the strange glimmer and glamour of a dream! The Sabbath peace is in the slumbrous trees, And from the wistful, the fast-widowing sky (Hark! how those plangent comforters call and cry!) Falls as in August plots late roseleaves fall. The sober Sabbath stir |