The clean and sunny things I felt When, throwing hate along the wind, I flashed the lantern at my belt. The moment passed, and we returned To barren words and old cold truth, Yet in our hearts our lanterns burned, We two had seen each other's youth. When filthy pain did wrap me round Your upright ears I always saw, And on my outflung hand I found The blessing of your horny paw; And yet--oh impotence of men-- My paw, more soft but not more wise, Old friend, was lacking to you when You looked your crisis in the eyes.... You shared my youth, oh faithful friend, You let me share your puppyhood; So, if I failed you in the end, My friend, my friend, you understood. SAINT BRIDE About your brow a starry wreath, About your feet a wilderness, Where young hot hopes grow cold beneath The tangled bondage of the press. Set like a saint within a niche-- A strait and narrow niche--you hide, And weave a veil about you, which Can turn our steel, Saint Bride, Saint Bride. The eyes of coarse and pond'rous man Are sceptic and satirical. "_What, little saint, and still you scan Old heaven for that miracle?_" Oh heart deceived, yet harmed not, Child-widow of a truth that died, Bearer in mind of things forgot, Bride of a dream, Saint Bride, Saint Bride. About you and about you thunders The wise young public on its 'bus, Exploding all your faery blunders,