Then burned his crimson may,

Like a clear flame outspread,

Arching our happy way:

Then would he shed

Strangely from his wild face

Wonderful light on me—

Like hounds that keen in chase

Their quarry see.

Oh, sorrow now to know

What shafts, what keenness cold

His are to pierce me through,

Now that I'm old.

[Pg 37]

[Pg 37]

EXILE

Had the gods loved me I had lain

Where darnel is, and thorn,

And the wild night-bird's nightlong strain

Trembles in boughs forlorn.

Nay, but they loved me not; and I

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