Proved generously thine only law.
Small joy was I to thee; before we met
Sorrow had left thee all too sad to save.
Useless my love—as vain as this regret
That pours my hopeless life across thy grave.
L. H.
The Masters
Oh, Masters, you who rule the world,
Will you not wait with me awhile,
When swords are sheathed and sails are furled,