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HE first Love lived and walked in Greece ; he wore No sandals, but around his form, like flame, A chlamys fell in folds ; beyond the same Shone his resplendent limbs. And then before We knew him, lo, another Love sprang o'er The world from a Judsean hill ; he came Face ardent towards the clouds, limbs clothed in shame ; He smote that other with a sword he bore. He was so young, he was too proud to bow His head towards earth, not wise enough, but now. Unto the place where that fair first Love lies. At last the Nazarene Love hastes to go, To say sweet words, to raise him that is low. To kiss him on his lips and on his eyes. Havelock Ellis.

HE world was bleak to-day: — a sunless sky Drifted, a waste of clouds, gray as the smoke That broods above a battle. A dull yoke Pressed down my spirit's neck, I knew not why. Save by infection from the misery Of the spent Season, that in tattered cloak, Cowered shivering to the wind's incessant stroke, A ruined King in tawdry majesty. Yet, in the woodlands wandering, over me Stole sense of solace : every misted glade Closed in like olden tapestries, — where fade Red robes, and yellow fruits, and armour blue, — In such soft-woven harmonies I knew The world a solemn, sad, sweet, mystery.

H. Bellvse Baildon.