And when he sank upon the floor
Where Bacchus spreads his nets,
A flower spray
Fell where he lay—
’Twas Hebe’s vio-lets.
[141]
]BEHIND M‘WHALAN’S BAR.
No theme for poet’s ecstasies,
No Phyllis fond and fair,
With sprouting wings and soulful eyes,
And sunglints in her hair;