To ——
Reading edition
Moist stars that glimmer on a midnight pool, Those are your eyes. They seem to baffle Fate In sheer serenity, as thought they wait For things we dream not of, as though the spool Of destiny turned slowly to a rule Well known by them, as though mere love and hate Were far below their grand all-seeing state Of unimpassioned wisdom, clear and cool. Yet in full tragic curves those lips betray Unsatiated sadness: dost foresee, Perchance, an aged couple by the fire, Love dead, and beauty turned to common clay? Nay, we have song! Age brings no fears to me: Time cannot stem the magic of the lyre! ARTHUR MILLIKEN.