Page:The year's at the spring.djvu/99

 THE • YEAR'S • AT • THE • SPRING

Alone he rides, alone,

The fair and fatal king:

Dark night is all his own,

That strange and solemn thing.

Which are more full of fate:

The stars; or those sad eyes?

Which are more still and great:

Those brows; or the dark skies?

Although his whole heart yearn

In passionate tragedy:

Never was face so stern

With sweet austerity.

Vanquished in life, his death

By beauty made amends:

The passing of his breath

Won his defeated ends.

Brief life and hapless? Nay:

Through death, life grew sublime.

Speak after sentence? Yea:

And to the end of time.

Armoured he rides, his head

Bare to the stars of doom: 67