Page:New poems and variant readings, Stevenson, 1918.djvu/83

Rh The love I hold was borne by her;

And now, though far away,

My lonely spirit hears the stir

Of water round the starling spur

Beside the bridge at Grez.

So may that love forever hold

In life an equal pace;

So may that love grow never old,

But, clear and pure and fountain-cold,

Go on from grace to grace.

IT'S FORTH ACROSS THE ROARING FOAM

forth across the roaring foam, and on towards the west,

It's many a lonely league from home, o'er many a mountain crest,

From where the dogs of Scotland call the sheep around the fold,

To where the flags are flying beside the Gates of Gold.

Where all the deep-sea galleons ride that come to bring the corn,

Where falls the fog at eventide and blows the breeze at morn;