And the cherry blooms burst with snow, And down underneath is the loveliest

THE sudden thrust of speech is no mean test

Of man or woman. Caesar, with his cry
Of anguish, Pilate, putting justice by,
Into three words a human soul compressed;
Three broke from Galileo's brooding breast;
And Desdemona, instant to reply,
"Nobody- I myself," is by that lie
In all her purity made manifest.
But Tito, Tito, standing so secure,
Tito, the idol of the market-place,
Who muttering to himself, "Some mad-
man, sure!"

Could look his stricken father in the face,
From a yet deeper well his falsehood drew,
And lived more base than that young wife
died true.

"HIC ME, PATER OPTIme, fesSAM DESERIS"

ERE yet in Vergil I could scan or spell,
Or through the enchanted portal of that

lay

Dear to old Rome had found my faltering