Page:Collected poems vol 1 de la mare.djvu/219

 Of water and willow tree, Where the wind hath been; But that foul Satan-mad, Who rots in his own head, And counts the dead, Not honest one — and two — But for the ghosts they were, Brave, faithful, true, When, head in air, In Earth's clear green and blue Heaven they did share With beauty who bade them there. . . . There, now ! Death goes — Mayhap I've wearied him. Ay, and the light dolh dim, And asleep's the rose, And tired Innocence In dreams is hence. . . . Come, Love, my lad, Nodding that drowsy head, 'Tis time thy prayers were said!