And Bitter Waxed The Fray; Brother With

I Wish, And I Wish That The Spring Would Go Faster, Nor Long Summer Bide So Late; And I Could Grow On Like The Foxglove And Aster, For Some Things Are Ill To Wait.

O Sleep, We Are Beholden To Thee, Sleep; Thou Bearest Angels To Us In The Night, Saints Out Of Heaven With Palms. Seen By Thy Light Sorrow Is Some Old Tale That Goeth Not Deep; Love Is A Pouting Child.

What Change Has Made The Pastures Sweet And Reached The Daisies At My Feet, And Cloud That Wears A Golden Hem? This Lovely World, The Hills, The Sward-- They All Look Fresh, As If Our Lord But Yesterday Had Finished Them.

And Bitter Waxed The Fray; Brother With Brother Spake No Word When They Met In The Way.

Work Is Its Own Best Earthly Meed, Else Have We None More Than The Sea-born Throng Who Wrought Those Marvellous Isles That Bloom Afar.