Page:New poems and variant readings, Stevenson, 1918.djvu/93

Rh So each, at last himself, for good

In that dear country lays him down,

At last beloved and understood

And pure in feature and renown.

STILL I LOVE TO RHYME

I love to rhyme, and still more, rhyming, to wander

Far from the commoner way;

Old-time trills and falls by the brook-side still do I ponder,

Dreaming to-morrow to-day.

Come here, come, revive me, Sun-God, teach me, Apollo,

Measures descanted before;

Since I ancient verses, I emulous follow,

Prints in the marbles of yore.

Still strange, strange, they sound in old young raiment invested,

Songs for the brain to forget—

Young song-birds elate to grave old temples benested

Piping and chirruping yet.