Page:Ode on the day of the coronation of King Edward VII.djvu/53



Since him of April heart and morning tongue,

Her ageless singing-bird.

For now the day is unto them that know,

And not henceforth she stumbles on the prize;

And yonder march the nations full of eyes.

Already is doom a-spinning, if unstirred

In leisure of ancient pathways she lose touch

Of the hour, and overmuch