LAY OF THE H08B. 259 



" Whether that form respect 



The sense or intellect, 

 Holy rest in soul or pleasance, 

 The chief Beauty's sign of presence. 



Holy in me and thee, 



Rose fallen from the tree, 

 Though the world stand dumb around us 

 All unable to expound us. 



Though none us deign to bless, 

 Blessed are we natheless ; 

 Blessed age and consecrated 

 In that, Rose, we were created ! 



" Oh, shame to poet's lays, 



Sung for the dole of praise 

 Hoarsely sung upon the highway, 

 With an ' obolum da mihi /' 



" Shame ! shame to poet's soul, 



Pining for such a dole, 

 When heaven-called to inherit 

 The high throne of his own spirit ! 



