The chuckle of the child-god passes,

O, to awake, to shake away the night

And find you dreaming there,

On the other side of death, with the sea-wind blowing round you,

And the scent of the thyme in your hair.

II

Tho’ beauty perish,

Perish like a flower,

And song be an idle breath,

45

45

Tho’ heaven be a dream, and youth for but an hour,

And life much less than death,

And the Maker less than that He made,

And hope less than despair,

If Death have shores where Love runs wild

I think you might be there.

III

Re-born, re-born

From the splendid sea,

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