III
My love of most complete and dearest worth,
Has ever breath of years, one day all spent,
Mingled with thought of present smiling earth?
Have you bethought you how so soon is sent
To this poor passionate heart the Worm of Death
With twined and intimate corrupt caress?
Have you bethought you, how that your dear breath,
Bathing the rose upon your mouth, shall press
One day no more betwixt its petalled home?
How all exceeding beauties exquisite
Of limbs, of eyes, of hair, of cheek, shall come
One day perhaps within that open night,
Where sheep go plaintive on a lone highway,
And ecstasy of love is far away?
LOUIS GOLDING
(QUEEN’S)
THE MOON-CLOCK
TICK-TOCK! the moon, that pale round clock,
Her big face peering, goes tick-tock!
Metallic as a grasshopper
The far faint tickings start and stir.
All night tinily you can hear
Tick-tock tinkling down the sheer
Steep falls of space. Minute, aloof,
Here is no praise, here no reproof.