So strange are the sights that I've seen,
And mighty's the mind of the mortal
Who knows what I mean.
Walter Parke.
A SONG OF RENUNCIATION
IN the days of my season of salad,
When the down was as dew on my cheek,
And for French I was bred on the ballad,
For Greek on the writers of Greek,—
Then I sang of the rose that is ruddy,