Page:The year's at the spring.djvu/94

 THE • YEAR'S • AT • THE • SPRING

New friends, now strangers....

Stays here, and changes, breaks, grows old, is blown

About the winds of the world, and fades from brains

Of living men, and dies.

O dear my loves, O faithless, once again

This one last gift I give: that after men

Shall know, and later lovers, far-removed,

Praise you, "All these were lovely"; say, "He loved."

RUPERT BROOKE 64