RHYME OF JOYOUS GUARD 



Through the lattice rushes the south wind, 



dense 

 With fumes of the flowery frankincense 



From hawthorn blossoming thickly ; 

 And gold is shower'd on grass unshorn, 

 And poppy-fire on shuddering corn, 

 With Maydew flooded and flush'd with morn, 

 And scented with sweetness sickly. 



The bloom and brilliance of summer days. 

 The buds that brighten, the fields that blaze. 



The fruits that ripen and redden. 

 And all the gifts of a God -sent light 

 Are sadder things in my shameful sight 

 Than the blackest gloom of the bitterest night, 



When the senses darken and deaden. 



For the days recall what the nights efface, 

 Scenes of glory and seasons of grace, 



For which there is no returning — 

 Else the days were even as the nights to me. 

 Now the axe is laid to the root of the tree. 

 And to-morrow the barren trunk may be 



Cut down — cast forth for the burning. 



239 



