Page:Poems, Meynell, 1921.djvu/42

Builders of Ruins Who shall allot the praise, and guess What part is yours and what is ours?— O years that certainly will bless Our flowers with fruits, our seeds with flowers, With ruin all our perfectness.

Be patient, Time, of our delays, Too happy hopes, and wasted fears, Our faithful ways, our wilful ways; Solace our labours, O our seers The seasons, and our bards the days;

And make our pause and silence brim With the shrill children's play, and sweets Of those pathetic flowers and dim Of those eternal flowers my Keats Dying felt growing over him! 34