A DEDICATION 



When each dew-laden air draught resembles 



A long draught of wine ; 

 When the skyline's blue burnish'd resistance 

 Makes deeper the dreamiest distance, 

 Some song in all hearts hath existence, — 



Such songs have been mine. 



They came in all guises, some vivid 



To clasp and to keep ; 

 Some sudden and swift as the livid 



Blue thunder-flame's leap. 

 This swept through the first breath of clover, 

 With memories renew'd to the rover — 

 That flash'd while the black horse turn'd over 



Before the long sleep. 



To you (having cunning to colour 



A page with your pen, 

 That through dull days, and nights even 

 duller, 



Long years ago ten ; 



Fair pictures in fever afforded) — 



I send these rude staves, roughly worded 



By one in whose brain stands recorded 



As clear now as then. 

 169 



