Page:New poems and variant readings, Stevenson, 1918.djvu/143

Rh O turned to friendly arts with all your will,

That keep a little chapel sacred still,

One rood of Holy-land in this bleak earth

Sequestered still (our homage surely due!)

To the twin Gods of mirthful wine and mirth.

Tall as a guardsman, pale as the east at dawn,

Who strides in strange apparel on the lawn?

Rails for his breakfast? routs his vassals out

(Like boys escaped from school) with song and shout?