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Here death may deal not again for ever ; 65
Here change may come not till all change end. From the graves they have made they shall rise up
never, Who have left nought living to ravage and rend. Earth, stones, and thorns of the wild ground growing,
69 While the sun and the rain live, these shall be ; Till a last wind's breath upon all these blowing
Roll the sea. Till the slow sea rise and the sheer cliff crumble,
Till terrace and meadow the deep gulfs drink, Till the strength of the waves of the high tides humble
75 The fields that lessen, the rocks that shrink ; Here now in his triumph where all things falter, Stretched out on the spoils that his own hand
spread, As a god self-slain on his own strange altar, Death lies dead.
80 A. C. SWINBURNE.
Addressed to Olive Miranda Watts, aged nine years
Who may praise her ?
Love arrays her.
Nine years old.
Worth its beauty.
Nought is all
Rise and fall.
Ever found such grace as might
Gifts to bring her.
Here on earth.
9 Quenched as embers Quenched with flakes of rain or snow Till the last faint flame burns low, 75 All those lustrous memories lie Dead with babyhood gone by : Yet in her they dare not die : Others fair as heaven is, yet, Now they share not heaven, forget : 80 She remembers.
A. C. SWINBURNE.
And we are the dreamers of dreams,
And sitting by desolate streams ;World-losers and world-forsakers,
On whom the pale moon gleams :
Of the world for ever, it seems.
And out of a fabulous story
We fashion an empire's glory : One man with a dream, at pleasure,
forth and conquer a crown ; And three with a new song's measure
Can trample a kingdom down. We, in the ages lying
In the buried past of the earth,
And Babel itself in our mirth ;
To the old of the new world's worth ;
Or one that is coming to birth.
A breath of our inspiration
25 Is the life of each generation ;
A wondrous thing of our dreaming,
Unearthly, impossible seemingThe soldier, the king, and the peasant Are working together in one,
30 Till our dream shall become their present,
And their work in the world be done.
They had no vision amazing
35 Of the land to which they are going : But on one man's soul it hath broken,
A light that doth not depart ;
Wrought flame in another man's heart. And therefore to-day is thrilling
41 With a past day's late fulfilling ;
And the multitudes are enlisted
In the faith that their fathers resisted, And, scorning the dream of to-morrow, 45
Are bringing to pass, as they may, In the world, for its joy or its sorrow,
The dream that was scorned yesterday.
But we, with our dreaming and singing,
50 The glory about us clinging
Of the glorious futures we see, Our souls with high music ringing :
O men ! it must ever be That we dwell, in our dreaming and singing, , A little apart from ye.
56 For we are afar with the dawning
And the suns that are not yet high, And out of the infinite morning Intrepid you hear us cry