THE LAST CONQUEROR Victorious men of earth, no more Yet you, proud monarchs, must obey Devouring Famine, Plague, and War, More quaint and subtle ways to kill; Shall have the cunning skill to break a heart. James Shirley THE BUBBLE This Life, which seems so fair, Is like a bubble blown up in the air By sporting children's breath, Who chase it everywhere And strive who can most motion it bequeath. And though it sometimes seem of its own might Like to an eye of gold to be fix'd there, And firm to hover in that empty height, That only is because it is so light. But in that pomp it doth not long appear; For when 'tis most admired, in a thought, Because it erst was nought, it turns to nought. William Drummond MY DAYS AMONG THE DEAD My days among the Dead are past; Where'er these casual eyes are cast, My never-failing friends are they, With them I take delight in weal And while I understand and feel My cheeks have often been bedew'd My thoughts are with the Dead; with them Their virtues love, their faults condemn, And from their lessons seek and find My hopes are with the Dead; anon Yet leaving here a name, I trust, Robert Southey Motherwell TO AN ATHLETE DYING YOUNG The time you won your town the race And home we brought you shoulder-high. To-day, the road all runners come, Smart lad, to slip betimes away Eyes the shady night has shut And silence sounds no worse than cheers Now you will not swell the rout Of lads that wore their honours out, Runners whom renown outran And the name died before the man. So set, before its echoes fade, And round that early-laurelled head A. E. Housman MY LIFE IS LIKE THE SUMMER ROSE My life is like the summer rose That opens to the morning sky, Is scattered on the ground — to die! My life is like the autumn leaf That trembles in the moon's pale ray; Restless, and soon to pass away! My life is like the prints which feet Have left on Tampa's desert strand; All trace will vanish from the sand; On that lone shore loud moans the sea, Richard Henry Wilde |