But the unthinking soul and body swoon
At last beneath the heavy hush of noon.
Forgetful let me lie where summer's drouth
Sifts fine the sand, and then with gaping mouth
Dream, planet-struck by the grape's round wine-red star.
Nymphs, I shall see the shade that now you are.
C. R. JURY
LOVE
Though life has stooped before its height,