Rains, stars, and clouds, light and the sacred dew.

The strong sun shines above thee:

That strength, that radiance bring!

If Winter come to Winter,

When shall men hope for Spring?

Laurence Binyon.

Laurence Binyon

[10]

[10]

is my twentieth year: dim, now, youth stretches behind me;

Breaking fresh at my feet, lies, like an ocean, the world.

And despised seem, now, those quiet fields I have travell'd:

Eager to thee I turn, Life, and thy visions of joy.

Fame I see, with her wreath, far off approaching to crown me;

Love, whose starry eyes fever my heart with desire:

And impassion'd I yearn for the future, all unconscious,

Ah, poor dreamer! what ills life in its circle enfolds.

Not more restless the boy, whose eager, confident bosom

The wide, unknown sea fills with a hunger to roam.

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