Time hath no tide but must abide Tide hath no time, for to Thy rhyme Oh 'twas certes at Thy decrees We fashioned Heaven and Hell! Pure Wisdom hath no certain path Thou art the Voice to kingly boys A veil to draw 'twixt God His Law A shadow kind to dumb and blind A rule to trick th' arithmetic Too base of leaguing oddsThe spur of trust, the curb of lust, Thou handmaid of the Gods! O Charity, all patiently Abiding wrack and scaith! O Faith, that meets ten thousand cheats Yet drops no jot of faith! Devil and brute Thou dost transmute Who art in sooth that lovely Truth Thy face is far from this our war, I may not find Thee quick and kind, Yet may I look with heart unshook Oh, hit or miss, how little 'tis, THE FLOWERS To our private taste, there is always something a little exotic, almost artificial, in songs which, under an English aspect and dress, are yet so manifestly the product of other skies. They affect us like translations; the very fauna and flora are alien, remote; the dog's-tooth violet is but an ill substitute for the rathe primrose, nor can we ever believe that the wood-robin sings as sweetly in April as the English thrush.-THE ATHENEUM. Buy my English posies! Wet with Channel spray; Buy my English posies And I'll sell your heart's desire! Buy my English posies! You that scorn the May, Won't you greet a friend from home Half the world away? Green against the draggled drift, Faint and frail and first Buy my Northern blood-root And I'll know where you were nursed: Robin down the logging-road whistles, "Come to me!" Spring has found the maple-grove, the sap is running free; All the winds of Canada call the ploughing-rain. Take the flower and turn the hour, and kiss your love again! Buy my English posies! Here's to match your need Buy a tuft of royal heath, Spun before the gale Buy my heath and lilies And I'll tell you whence you hail! Under hot Constantia broad the vineyards lieThroned and thorned the aching berg props the speckless sky Slow below the Wynberg firs trails the tilted wain— Take the flower and turn the hour, and kiss your love again! Buy my English posies! You that will not turn- Gathered where the Erskine leaps Down the road to Lorne Buy my Christmas creeper And I'll say where you were born! West away from Melbourne dust holidays begin— They that mock at Paradise woo at Cora LynnThrough the great South Otway gums sings the great South Main— Take the flower and turn the hour, and kiss your love again! Buy my English posies! Here's your choice unsold! Sign that spring is come— Buy my clinging myrtle And I'll give you back your home! Broom behind the windy town; pollen o' the pine— Bell-bird in the leafy deep where the ratas twineFern above the saddle-bow, flax upon the plain— Take the flower and turn the hour, and kiss your love again! Buy my English posies! Ye that have your own |