842. WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY Invictus 1849-1903 843. OUT UT of the night that covers me, I thank whatever gods may be For my unconquerable soul. In the fell clutch of circumstance Beyond this place of wrath and tears It matters not how strait the gate, How charged with punishments the scroll, I am the master of my fate: I am the captain of my soul. A Margarita Sorori LATE lark twitters from the quiet skies: And from the west, Where the sun, his day's work ended, Lingers as in content, There falls on the old, gray city An influence luminous and serene, The smoke ascends In a rosy-and-golden haze. The spires Sinks, and the darkening air The sun, Thrills with a sense of the triumphing night Night with her train of stars And her great gift of sleep. So be my passing! My task accomplish'd and the long day done, Some late lark singing, Let me be gather'd to the quiet west, 844. England, My England WHAT have I done for you, England, my England? What is there I would not do, With your glorious eyes austere, As the Song on your bugles blown, Round the world on your bugles blown! Where shall the watchful sun, Match the master-work you've done, When shall he rejoice agen As come forward, one to ten, To the Song on your bugles blown, Down the years on your bugles blown? Ever the faith endures, England, my England :— 'Take and break us: we are yours, England, my own! Life is good, and joy runs high To the stars on your bugles blown!' They call you proud and hard, England, my England: You with worlds to watch and ward, England, my own! You whose mail'd hand keeps the keys Of such teeming destinies, You could know nor dread nor ease Were the Song on your bugles blown, Round the Pit on your bugles blown ! Mother of Ships whose might, Chosen daughter of the Lord, Out of heaven on your bugles blown! 845. EDMUND GOSSE Revelation b. 1849 NTO the silver night INTO She brought with her pale hand The topaz lanthorn-light, And darted splendour o'er the land; Around her in a band, Ringstraked and pied, the great soft moths came flying. Behind the thorny pink Close wall of blossom'd may, I gazed thro' one green chink And saw no more than thousands may,- Saw full rose lips as rounded as the cherry, With food for furry friends She pass'd, her lamp and she, Hid all that saffron sheen from me: Around my rosy tree Once more the silver-starry night was shining, Alas! for him who dwells In frigid air of thought, The frozen calm his spirit sought; By life too lately taught He sees the ecstatic Human from him stealing; And dares not clutch what Love was half revealing. I 846. ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON Romance 1850-1894 WILL make you brooches and toys for your delight Of bird-song at morning and star-shine at night. I will make a palace fit for you and me, Of green days in forests and blue days at sea. I will make my kitchen, and you shall keep your room, Where white flows the river and bright blows the broom, And you shall wash your linen and keep your body white In rainfall at morning and dewfall at night. |