I TRAVEL FAST 



But if Love should await me yet, in the land of 



sleep and forgetting 



Ah, bird, could you sing me this, I would not 

 your song should cease! 



A. C. BENSON. 



(Poems.) 



rhe Moss-Rose 



Walking to-day in your garden, O gracious lady, 

 Little you thought, as you turned in that alley 



remote and shady 

 And gave me a rose, and asked if I knew its 



savour 

 The old-world scent of the moss-rose, flower of 



a bygone favour 



Little you thought, as you waited the word of 

 appraisement, 



Laughing at first, and then amazed at my amaze- 

 ment, 



That the rose you gave was a gift already cher- 

 ished, 



And the garden whence you plucked it a garden 

 long perished. 



[163] 



