Books and Habits, from the Lectures of Lafcadio Hearn

by Lafcadio Hearn

In whispers sweet as roses’ breath;

I know I cannot win the race,

And at the end, I know, is death.

But joyfully I bare my limbs,

Anoint me with the tropic breeze,

And feel through every sinew run

The vigour of Hippomenes.

O race of love! we all have run

Thy happy course through groves of Spring,