106 THE entomologist's record. 



And in yon clearing of the wood, 

 Seeking their loves and honied food, 

 Between the bii'cben-steras there float 

 Soft, saffron, psyche-winged sprites 

 To music of the first bee's note. 



Nature awakes, the old earth stirs 

 To youth renewed : the golden furze 

 Laughs on the hill-side to repeat 

 The young sun's golden smile : alert 

 Up leaps the world on airy feet. 



But One, but One, who loved so well 

 Nature's enchantments, and to tell 

 Her strange, mysterious beauty's tale, 

 Froin morn to dusk, from dusk to morn 

 Studious her secrets to unveil ; 



Alas ! for him, our Friend, in vain 

 All things their loveliness regain ; 

 But he no more shall feel nor see. 

 Eager with us as heretofore, 

 Our spring-tide's rare felicity. 



We laid him in the earth to sleep 

 Through the long night that dead men keep. 

 Silent and senseless : still we stood 

 That winter's morn, and bade Farewell ! 

 There was no more that mortal could. 



But leave him, dust to dust ... Ah ! no ; 

 The spring-tide's here ! Can it be so ? 

 The keen brain and the generous heart 

 Passed into idle nothingness. 

 Of us and ours no more a part ? 



He reads awry this April morn 



The message that from earth is borne, 



If from the glad renewal there springs 



No fair horizon into ken. 



Beyond all doom of mortal things. 



Dear Friend, gone hence ! we sighed Farewell ! 

 As tears about your grave-side fell. 

 'Tis passed : this April morn prevail 

 Faith's finer promptings, and we cry, 

 Spirit, in radiant freedom. Hail! 



—20, Fitzroy Street, Fitzroy Square, W. April, 1911. 



