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John Bartlett (1820–1905). Familiar Quotations, 10th ed. 1919.

Page 841

Sir William Watson. (1858–1935) (continued)
    Deemest thou labor
Only is earnest?
Grave is all beauty,
  Solemn is joy.
          England my Mother. Part iv.
    Empires dissolve and peoples disappear,
Song passes not away.
          Lacrymae Musarum.
    In this world with starry dome,
  Floored with gemlike plains and seas,
Shall I never feel at home,
  Never wholly be at ease?
    On from room to room I stray,
  Yet mine Host can ne’er espy,
And I know not to this day,
  Whether guest or captive I.
Francis Thompson. (1859–1907)
    I fear to love you, Sweet, because
Love’s the ambassador of loss.
          To Olivia.
    The hills look over on the South,
  And Southward dreams the sea;
And with the sea-breeze hand in hand,
  Came innocence and she.
    Little Jesus, wast Thou shy
Once, and just so small as I?
And what did it feel to be
Out of Heaven and just like me?
          Ex Ore Infantum.
    I fled Him, down the nights and down the days;
  I fled Him, down the arches of the years;
I fled Him, down the labyrinthine ways
  Of my own mind; and in the midst of tears
I hid from Him, and under running laughter.
          The Hound of Heaven.