VALEDICTION (R. L. S., 1894).
When from the vista of the Book I shrink,
From lauded pens that earn ignoble wage,
Begetting nothing joyous, nothing sage,
Nor keep with Shakespeare’s use one golden link;
When heavily my sanguine spirits sink,
To read too plain on each impostor page
Only of kings the broken lineage,
Well for my peace if then on thee I think,
With whose familiar baldric hope is girt,
From whose young hands she bears the Grail away.
All glad, all great! Truer because thou wert,
I am and must be; and in thy known light
Go down to dust, content with this my day.