PRINCE, when the light of our days is o’er,
Solemnly, silently cometh night,
Grant us this passing flash, no more—
A stainless cause and a dauntless fight.
TO THE NEW HELEN ON HER BIRTHDAY
TO-DAY is the most perfect day
Of all the rose-crowned year,
For then the lady of my love
On earth did once appear,
From some hushed kingdom of Romance
Which held her presence dear.
Hers was the face that burned tall Troy
And launched a thousand ships.
Men fought and died because they craved,
The draught that blest love sips,
The fragrance of her perfumed hair,
The sweetness of her lips.
O Helen, goddess, woman, queen,
Bend down, bend down to me,
As once in storied Argolis
You bent to Paris’ plea;
Your hair shall seal the earth for me,
Your lips shall snare the sea.
“FOR ANY GOOD CAUSE AT ALL.”
The Ballad of Sir Kevin O’Keane
To C. C.
SIR Kevin O’Keane was an Irish knight,
Who never felt sorry or sad.
He had dreams of delight by day and by night,
And his friends all thought him mad.
Kevin was born when Patrick came,
And for sixteen hundred years
The sound of his name was a roaring flame—
He’d a yell that would split your ears.
He had hair as red as a sunset bright
And a thirst not thin or small,
And his soul’s delight was a smashing fight
For any good cause at all.
He harried Sitric at Malahide,
And he drove him into the sea,
And he sighed, “Great Danes I could never abide:
They never agreed with me.”