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.
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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
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.
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I and my like, improvident sailors !