SELECTIONS IN ENGLISH POETRY

To hold them with me through the gate of Death.
They'll play deserter, turn with the traitor breath, ^
Break the high bond we made, and sell Love's trust
And sacramental covenant to the dustL
—Oh, never a doubt but, somewhere, I shall wake;,
And give what's left of love again, and make

New friends, now strangers......

But the best I've known 65

Stays here, and changes, breaks, grows old, is blown
About the winds of the world, and fades from brains
Of living men, and dies.

Nothing remains.

O dear my loves, O faithless, once again

This one last gift I give: that after men -0

Shall know, and later lovers, far-removed,

Praise you, "All these were lovely'5; say, "He loved.S)

B98