Page:Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1900.djvu/1030

 But yet, now living, fain would I That some one then should testify, Saying—'He held his pen in trust To Art, not serving shame or lust.' Will none?—Then let my memory die In after days!

HENRY CLARENCE KENDALL

1841-1882

827. Mooni

He that is by Mooni now Sees the water-sapphires gleaming Where the River Spirit, dreaming, Sleeps by fall and fountain streaming Under lute of leaf and bough!— Hears what stamp of Storm with stress is, Psalms from unseen wildernesses Deep amongst far hill-recesses— He that is by Mooni now.

Yea, for him by Mooni's marge Sings the yellow-hair'd September, With the face the gods remember, When the ridge is burnt to ember, And the dumb sea chains the barge! Where the mount like molten brass is, Down beneath fern-feather'd passes Noonday dew in cool green grasses Gleams on him by Mooni's marge.