(Student's Love-song)
Once more the cauldron of the sun Smears the bookcase with winy red, And here my page is, and there my bed, And the apple-tree shadows travel along.
Soon their intangible track will be run, And dusk grow strong And they be fled.
Yes: now the boiling ball is gone, And I have wasted another day . . .
But wasted--WASTED, do I say?
Is it a waste to have imaged one Beyond the hills there, who, anon, My great deeds done Will be mine alway?
"WHEN I SET OUT FOR LYONNESSE"
When I set out for Lyonnesse, A hundred miles away, The rime was on the spray, And starlight lit my lonesomeness When I set out for Lyonnesse A hundred miles away.
What would bechance at Lyonnesse While I should sojourn there No prophet durst declare, Nor did the wisest wizard guess What would bechance at Lyonnesse While I should sojourn there.
When I came back from Lyonnesse With magic in my eyes, None managed to surmise What meant my godlike gloriousness, When I came back from Lyonnesse With magic in my eyes.