Page:Poems and ballads (IA balladspoems00swinrich).pdf/116



the garden of death, where the singers whose names are deathless One with another make music unheard of men, Where the dead sweet roses fade not of lips long breathless, And the fair eyes shine that shall weep not or change again, Who comes now crowned with the blossom of snow-white years? What music is this that the world of the dead men hears?

Beloved of men, whose words on our lips were honey, Whose name in our ears and our fathers' ears was sweet,