Dry thine eyes, Doll! there's Love to feed our fire,

Not for the buying, but for the desire;

Winter ne'er quenched a blaze so bravely fed.

And Sleep, I wot, will grudge us not his best:

In winter earlier sink the suns to rest,

And eke the sooner shall our toils be sped;

When in the embers glowing

There'll be love-charms worth the knowing,

Or, at Yule-tide, mazes threaded, with the mistletoe o'erhead.

Arthur S. Cripps.

Arthur S. Cripps.

[39]

[39]

 Summer sun, O moving trees!

O cheerful human noise, O busy glittering street! 

What hour shall Fate in all the future find,

Or what delights, ever to equal these:

Only to taste the warmth, the light, the wind,

Only to be alive, and feel that life is sweet?

Laurence Binyon.

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