Fors Clavigera

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May 1886—1910

Sweet height of Spring I thou bring'st to me
Thoughts timed but ill with linnet's song,
With breathing bud, with robing tree,
With evening sunshine ling'ring long.

Thoughts on a throng convened when airs
Of freedom, trill'd a witch, who charm'd
To sleep, with dreams that boon was theirs,
Though, wakeful, Poufr drew nigh them, arm'd.

Fierce bound! mad flight, of course!—a breath:—
A bolt of bursting thunder, hurl'd
By hands unknown whose deed of death
The siren hush'd;—and woke the world.

That hour my soul espoused a cause
Which, like Pandora, call'd from hell
A swarm of ills, resolved as laws;
But with them she brought Hope as well!

That evil fortunes mate in May
Is told; but did this idle word
Portend, perchance, that festful day
When Wrong, matured, shall clasp—the Sword?

Hark! 'round our globe, the moan of hate
Epithalamium sounds once more!
The bells ring: and Key-bearing Fate
Stands, veil'd and mute, before the door!

C. L. James