IV.

Ah, not with numbing of one noble hope Turn we from facing Death inexorable, But with strong souls and stable! Deep heaven hath surely scope To hold each earnest hour, a jewel new, A star to light and guide: And Toil, that shears all knotted puzzles through, A stellar sword against the dark descried Shall burn, like Perseus’ blade whereby the Gorgon died Far, far the Colchian shores, Weary the mid-sea laboring at the oars, And hard to pass the rough Symplegades: But, sail and storm-beat spars And wave-worn rudder pictured all in stars, Shines the ship Argo still above the Southern seas!

FLOWER FANCIES.