Eyes of Youth

Voices hummed as of a multitude
Crowding from their lowly sod;
'Twas the stricken daisies where I stood,
Crying to the daisies' God.

THE BEE

Away, the old monks said,
Sweet honey-fly,
From lilting overhead
The lullaby
You heard some mother croon
Beneath the harvest moon.
Go, hum it in the hive,
The old monks said,
For we were once alive
Who now are dead.

OUTSIDE THE CARLTON

The death of the grey withered grass

Of man's is a sign,
And his life is as wine
That is spilt from a half-shivered glass.

At a quarter to nine
Went Dives to dine ...
(Man, it is said, is as grass.)

Riches and plunder had met

To furnish his feast--
Both succulent beast
And fish from the fisherman's net;

While he tasteth of dishes
And all his soul wishes--
Nor knoweth his hour hath been set.

The death of the pale-