A Rondeau of College Rhymes
Our college rhymes, how light they seem, Like little ghosts of love’s young dream That led our boyish hearts away From lectures and from books, to stray By flowery mead and flowing stream! There’s
The White Bees
I LEGEND Long ago Apollo called to Aristæus, Youngest of the shepherds, Saying, “I will make you keeper of my bees.” Golden were the hives, and golden was the honey; Golden, too, the music,
The Sun-Dial at Wells College
The shadow by my finger cast Divides the future from the past: Before it, sleeps the unborn hour In darkness, and beyond thy power: Behind its unreturning line, The vanished hour, no longer thine:
Jeanne d'Arc
The land was broken in despair, The princes quarrelled in the dark, When clear and tranquil, through the troubled air Of selfish minds and wills that did not dare, Your star arose, Jeanne d’Arc.
The Price of Peace
Peace without Justice is a low estate, A coward cringing to an iron Fate! But Peace through Justice is the great ideal, We’ll pay the price of war to make it real.
Stand Fast!
Stand fast, Great Britain! Together England, Scotland, Ireland stand One in the faith that makes a mighty land, True to the bond you gave and will not break And fearless in the fight for
Fire-Fly City
Like a long arrow through the dark the train is darting, Bearing me far away, after a perfect day of love’s delight: Wakeful with all the sad-sweet memories of parting, I lift the narrow
Departure
Oh, why are you shining so bright, big Sun, And why is the garden so gay? Do you know that my days of delight are done, Do you know I am going away? If
The Gentle Traveller
Through many a land your journey ran, And showed the best the world can boast: Now tell me, traveller, if you can, The place that pleased you most.” She laid her hands upon my
Gratitude
“Do you give thanks for this? or that?” No, God be thanked I am not grateful In that cold, calculating way, with blessing ranked As one, two, three, and four, that would be hateful.
Edmund Clarence Stedman
Oh, quick to feel the lightest touch Of beauty or of truth, Rich in the thoughtfulness of age, The hopefulness of youth, The courage of the gentle heart, The wisdom of the pure, The
Love
Let me but love my love without disguise, Nor wear a mask of fashion old or new, Nor wait to speak till I can hear a clue, Nor play a part to shine in
A Child in the Garden
When to the garden of untroubled thought I came of late, and saw the open door, And wished again to enter, and explore The sweet, wild ways with stainless bloom inwrought, And bowers of