Page:Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1918.djvu/1039

 HENRY CLARENCE KENDALL

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.

��Who that dwells by Mooni yet, Feels in flowei f ul forest arches Smiting wings and breath that parches Where strong Summer's path of march is,

And the sunb in thunder set' Housed beneath the grpcious kirtle

Of the shadowy water-myrtle

Winds may kibs with heat and hurtle,

He is safe by Mooni yet'

��Days there were when he who sings (Dumb so long through passion's losses) Stood where Mooni's water crosses Shining tracks of grecn-hair'd mosses,

Like a soul with radiant wings:

Then the psalm the wind rehearses

Then the song the stream disperses

Lent a beauty to his verses,

Who to-night of Mooni sings.

�� �