Page:Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1900.djvu/1046

 The smoke ascends In a rosy-and-golden haze. The spires Shine and are changed. In the valley Shadows rise. The lark sings on. The sun, Closing his benediction, Sinks, and the darkening air Thrills with a sense of the triumphing night Night with her train of stars And her great gift of sleep.

So be my passing! My task accomplish'd and the long day done, My wages taken, and in my heart Some late lark singing, Let me be gather'd to the quiet west, The sundown splendid and serene, Death.

844.

hat have I done for you,
 * England, my England?

What is there I would not do,
 * England, my own?

With your glorious eyes austere, As the Lord were walking near, Whispering terrible things and dear
 * As the Song on your bugles blown,
 * England
 * Round the world on your bugles blown!