Dedication to Malcolm Nicolson

I, who of lighter love wrote many a verse, Made public never words inspired by thee, Lest strangers’ lips should carelessly rehearse Things that were sacred and too dear to me. Thy soul was noble; through these fifteen years Mine eyes familiar, found no fleck nor flaw, Stern to thyself, thy comrades’ faults and fears Proved generously thine only law. Small joy was I to thee; before we met Sorrow had left thee all too sad to save. Useless my love—as vain as this regret That pours my hopeless life across thy grave. L. H.