<SPAN name="startofbook"></SPAN>
<h2>MIDDLE-AGE ENTHUSIASMS<br/> <span class="GutSmall">To M. H.</span></h2>
<p class="poetry"> <span class="smcap">We</span>
passed where flag and flower<br/>
Signalled a jocund throng;<br/>
We said: “Go to, the hour<br/>
Is apt!”—and joined the song;<br/>
And, kindling, laughed at life and care,<br/>
Although we knew no laugh lay there.</p>
<p class="poetry"> We walked where shy birds
stood<br/>
Watching us, wonder-dumb;<br/>
<SPAN name="page168"></SPAN><span class="pagenum">p.
168</span>Their friendship met our mood;<br/>
We cried: “We’ll often come:<br/>
We’ll come morn, noon, eve, everywhen!”<br/>
—We doubted we should come again.</p>
<p class="poetry"> We joyed to see strange
sheens<br/>
Leap from quaint leaves in shade;<br/>
A secret light of greens<br/>
They’d for their pleasure made.<br/>
We said: “We’ll set such sorts as these!”<br/>
—We knew with night the wish would cease.</p>
<p class="poetry"> “So sweet the
place,” we said,<br/>
“Its tacit tales so dear, <br/>
Our thoughts, when breath has sped,<br/>
Will meet and mingle here!” . . .<br/>
“Words!” mused we. “Passed the mortal
door,<br/>
Our thoughts will reach this nook no more.”</p>
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