Page:Anthology of Magazine Verse (1921).djvu/132

This page has been proofread, but needs to be validated.
Just so of spirits, Beauty's silver light Limns with a purer ray, and tenderer too:Men's clumsy gestures, to unearthly sight, Surpass the shapes they show by human view.
On this brave world, where few such meteors fell, Her youngest son, to save us, Beauty flung. -He suffered and descended into hell— And comforts still the ardent and the young.
Drunken of moonlight, dazed by draughts of sky, Dizzy with stars, his mortal fever ran:His utterance a moon-enchanted cry Not free from folly—for he too was man.
And now and here, a hundred years away, Where topless towers shadow golden streets,The young men sit, nooked in a cheap café, Perfectly happy. . . talking about Keats.
The BookmanChristopher Morley


THE TAVERN OF THE FOOLS
I knew of an honest cleanly inn where men much profit had, And some came in from the roaring town, and some from the roaring seas;They talked in the open way of those who are not too proud to be sad, They sat in a ruddy ingle, at night, and took their ease.For terrible is the sunlight that makes men fear to be dead. But comforting is the well-swept hearth that flickers gold and gules,And there men spoke withouten shame, and curious words were said— Ungoaded by a clock they sat, in the Tavern of the Fools.

117

This article is issued from Wikisource. The text is available under Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 unless otherwise noted. Additional terms may apply for the media files.