Once more in the arena will counter, clash, and close.
The echoes of the battle when last they trod the sand,
The tramp of eager horsemen, the clang of biting brand,
Seem scarcely to have left us, and now, before the Spring
Has come with burst of blossom, has filled with flush of wing,
Ere Valentine the Vernal hath trod the ancient tracks,
His burthens laid on lovers, and eke on postmen’s backs,
Ere snow hath left the branches, ere green hath lit the boughs,
We may look out for ructions, and we must list to rows.
Yet in this huge arena heroic figures shine;