X.
LLAST Autumn we were four, and travelled farWith Phœbe in her golden plenilune,O’er stubble-fields where sheaves of harvest boonStood slanted. Many a clear and stedfast starTwinkled its radiance thro’ crisp-leaved beeches,Over the farm to which, with snatches rareOf ancient ballads, songs, and saucy speeches,He hurried, happy mad. Then each had thereA dove-eyed sister pining for him, fourFair ladies legacied with loveliness,Chaste as a group of stars, or lilies blownIn rural nunnery. O God! Thy soreStrange ways expound. Two to the grave have goneWithout apparent reason more or less.
LLAST Autumn we were four, and travelled farWith Phœbe in her golden plenilune,O’er stubble-fields where sheaves of harvest boonStood slanted. Many a clear and stedfast starTwinkled its radiance thro’ crisp-leaved beeches,Over the farm to which, with snatches rareOf ancient ballads, songs, and saucy speeches,He hurried, happy mad. Then each had thereA dove-eyed sister pining for him, fourFair ladies legacied with loveliness,Chaste as a group of stars, or lilies blownIn rural nunnery. O God! Thy soreStrange ways expound. Two to the grave have goneWithout apparent reason more or less.
LLAST Autumn we were four, and travelled farWith Phœbe in her golden plenilune,O’er stubble-fields where sheaves of harvest boonStood slanted. Many a clear and stedfast starTwinkled its radiance thro’ crisp-leaved beeches,Over the farm to which, with snatches rareOf ancient ballads, songs, and saucy speeches,He hurried, happy mad. Then each had thereA dove-eyed sister pining for him, fourFair ladies legacied with loveliness,Chaste as a group of stars, or lilies blownIn rural nunnery. O God! Thy soreStrange ways expound. Two to the grave have goneWithout apparent reason more or less.
L