Page:The poems of Richard Watson Gilder, Gilder, 1908.djvu/153

Rh Of birds that sang last eve, and still shall sing

In dawns of morrows only joyful lays.

Or yet, if thou shouldst go

Not utterly unscathed of mortal woe—

Thy blackest hour be touched by memory's gold,

As is this flower's leaf. Then shalt thou hold

Ever a young heart in thee, ever as now

A look of quenchless youth beneath thy peerless brow.

II—ART

III—TO A SOUTHERN GIRL

IV—FOR A FAN

V—TO T. B. A.

pretty book doth please me,

Of carks and cares doth ease me;

But don't forget, my boy,