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Andrew Lang. (1844–1912)

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    There’s a joy without canker or cark,
  There’s a pleasure eternally new,
’T is to gloat on the glaze and the mark
  Of china that’s ancient and blue.

Ballade of blue China.

7991

    Here’s a pot with a cot in a park
  In a park where the peach-blossoms blew,
Where the lovers eloped in the dark,
  Lived, died and were changed into two
  Bright birds that eternally flew
Through the boughs of the may, as they sang;
  ’T is a tale was undoubtedly true
  In the reign of the Emperor Hwang.

Ballade of blue China.

7992

    The windy lights of Autumn flare;
  I watch the moonlit sails go by;
I marvel how men toil and fare,
  The weary business that they play!
  Their voyaging is vanity,
And fairy gold is all their gain,
  And all the winds of winter cry,
“My Love returns no more again.”

Ballade of Autumn.

Robert Seymour Bridges. (1844–1930)

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    Beneath the crisp and wintry carpet hid
  A million buds but stay their blossoming
  And trustful birds have built their nests amid
The shuddering boughs, and only wait to sing
  Till one soft shower from the south shall bid
  And hither tempt the pilgrim steps of Spring.

The Growth of Love. Sonnet vi.

7994

I live on hope and that I think do all
Who come into this world.

Sonnet lxxiii.

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