102 STEVENSON'S POEMS As, one by one, the stars in .riot and disgrace, I squandered what ... There shut the door, alas! on many a hope Too many; My face is set to the autumnal slope, Where the loud winds shall . There shut the door, alas ! on many a hope, And yet some hopes remain that shall decide My rest of years and down the autumnal slope. sje * * * # Gone are the quiet twilight dreams that I Loved, as all men have loved them ; gone! I have great dreams, and still they stir my soul on high— Dreams of the knight's stout heart and tempered will. Not in Elysian lands they take their way; Not as of yore across the gay champaign, Towards some dream city, towered . . . , and my ... The path winds forth before me, sweet and plain, Not now; but though beneath a stone-grey sky November's russet woodlands toss and wail, Still the white road goes thro' them, still may I, Strong in new purpose, God, may still prevail. # * * * * I and my like, improvident sailors !