With our sick beneath the awnings when we went

to Mandalay!

Oh, the road to Mandalay,

Where the flyin'-fishes play,

An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer China 'crost the Bay!

RECESSIONAL

God of our fathers, known of old-
Lord of our far-flung battle line-
Beneath whose awful hand we hold
Dominion over palm and pine-
Lord God of hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget-lest we forget!

The tumult and the shouting dies-
The Captains and the Kings depart-
Still stands Thine ancient sacrifice,
An humble and a contrite heart.
Lord God of hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget-lest we forget!

Far-called our navies melt away-
On dune and headland sinks the fire-
Lo, all our pomp of yesterday

Is one with Nineveh and Tyre!
Judge of the Nations, spare us yet,
Lest we forget-lest we forget!

If, drunk with sight of power, we loose
Wild tongues that have not Thee in awe-
Such boasting as the Gentiles use,
Or lesser breeds without the Law-
Lord God of hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget-lest we forget!

For heathen heart that puts her trust
In reeking tube and iron shard-
All valiant dust that builds on dust,
And guarding calls not Thee to guard.
For frantic boast and foolish word,
Thy Mercy on Thy People, Lord!

AMEN.

William Butler Yeats

1865

DOWN BY THE SALLEY GARDENS*

Down by the salley gardens my love and I did meet; She passed the salley gardens with little snow-white

feet.

She bid me take love easy, as the leaves grow on the tree;

But I, being young and foolish, with her would not

agree.

In a field by the river my love and I did stand, And on my leaning shoulder she laid her snow-white hand.

She bid me take life easy, as the grass grows on the weirs;

But I was young and foolish, and now am full of tears.

* Printed by permission from W. B. Yeats' Poetical Works. Copyright, 1906, by The Macmillan Company.

THE ROSE OF THE WORLD*

Who dreamed that beauty passes like a dream?
For these red lips, with all their mournful pride,
Mournful that no new wonder may betide,

Troy passed away in one high funeral gleam,
And Usna's children died.

We and the labouring world are passing by:
Amid men's souls, that waver and give place,
Like the pale waters in their wintry race,
Under the passing stars, foam of the sky,
Lives on this lonely face.

Bow down, archangels, in your dim abode :
Before you were, or any hearts to beat,
Weary and kind one lingered by His seat;
He made the world to be a grassy road
Before her wandering feet.

Stephen Phillips

1868

TWILIGHT+

I.

Red skies above a level land

And thought of thee;

Sinking sun on reedy strand,
And alder tree.

* Printed by permission from W. B. Yeats' Poetical Works. Copyright, 1906, by The Macmillan Company.

+ Printed by permission from The Sin of David.

The Macmillan Company.

Copyright, 1904, by

II.

Only the heron sailing home,

With heavy flight:
Ocean afar in silent foam,

And coming night.

III.

Dwindling day and drowsing birds,
O my child!

Dimness and returning herds,
Memory wild.

Alfred Noyes

1880

THE CALL OF THE SPRING *

Come, choose your road and away, my lad,
Come, choose your road and away!
We'll out of the town by the road's bright crown
As it dips to the dazzling day.

It's a long white road for the weary;

But it rolls through the heart of the May.

Though many a road would merrily ring
To the tramp of your marching feet,
All roads are one from the day that's done,

And the miles are swift and sweet,

And the graves of your friends are the mile-stones To the land where all roads meet.

* Printed by permission from The Golden Hynde and Other Poems. Copyright, 1908, by The Macmillan Company.

But the call that you hear this day, my lad,
Is the Spring's old bugle of mirth

When the year's green fire in a soul's desire
Is brought like a rose to the birth;
And knights ride out to adventure

As the flowers break out of the earth.

Over the sweet-smelling mountain-passes
The clouds lie brightly curled;

The wild-flowers cling to the crags and swing
With cataract-dews impearled;

And the way, the way that you choose this day
Is the way to the end of the world.

It rolls from the golden long ago

To the land that we ne'er shall find;
And it's uphill here, but it's downhill there,
For the road is wise and kind,

And all rough places and cheerless faces
Will soon be left behind.

Come, choose your road and away, away,

We'll follow the gypsy sun;

For it's soon, too soon to the end of the day,

And the day is well begun;

And the road rolls on through the heart of the May. And there's never a May but one.

There's a fir-wood here, and a dog-rose there,
And a note of the mating dove;

And a glimpse, maybe, of the warm blue sea,
And the warm white clouds above;

And warm to your breast in a tenderer nest
Your sweetheart's little glove.