Page:Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1900.djvu/995

 All their long life lies behind Like a dimly blending dream: There is nothing left to bind To the realms that only seem.

They are waiting for the boat; There is nothing left to do: What was near them grows remote, Happy silence falls like dew; Now the shadowy bark is come, And the weary may go home.

By still water they would rest In the shadow of the tree: After battle sleep is best, After noise, tranquillity.

THOMAS ASHE

1836-1889

805. Meet We no Angels, Pansie?

Came, on a Sabbath noon, my sweet, In white, to find her lover; The grass grew proud beneath her feet, The green elm-leaves above her:— Meet we no angels, Pansie?

She said, 'We meet no angels now'; And soft lights stream'd upon her; And with white hand she touch'd a bough; She did it that great honour:— What! meet no angels, Pansie?