Page:A midsummer holiday and other poems (IA midsummerholiday00swin).pdf/97

 Rocks emblazoned like the mid shield's royal boss Take the sun with all their blossom broad and bold. None would dream that all this moorland's glow and gloss Could be dark as tombs that strike the spirit acold Even in eyes that opened here, and here behold Now no sun relume from hope's belated spark Any comfort, nor may ears of mourners hark Though the ripe woods ring with golden-throated glee, While the soul lies shattered, like a stranded bark On the wrathful woful marge of earth and sea.

Death and doom are they whose crested triumphs toss On the proud plumed waves whence mourning notes are tolled. Wail of perfect woe and moan for utter loss Raise the bride-song through the graveyard on the wold Where the bride-bed keeps the bridegroom fast in mould,