Page:New poems and variant readings, Stevenson, 1918.djvu/122

102 As, one by one, the stars in riot and disgrace,

I squandered what ...

There shut the door, alas! on many a hope

Too many;

My face is set to the autumnal slope,

Where the loud winds shall ...

There shut the door, alas! on many a hope,

And yet some hopes remain that shall decide

My rest of years and down the autumnal slope.

Gone are the quiet twilight dreams that I

Loved, as all men have loved them; gone!

I have great dreams, and still they stir my soul on high—

Dreams of the knight's stout heart and tempered will.

Not in Elysian lands they take their way;

Not as of yore across the gay champaign,

Towards some dream city, towered ...

and my ...

The path winds forth before me, sweet and plain,

Not now; but though beneath a stone-grey sky

November's russet woodlands toss and wail,

Still the white road goes thro' them, still may I,

Strong in new purpose, God, may still prevail.

I and my like, improvident sailors!