Alfred Austin Poems

When in the long-drawn avenues of Thought
I halt, and look before me and behind,
And seek what erst I all too little sought,
...

When Athens challenged Phryne to confess
Eleusis' self sufficed not to appal
Her impious tread, and, throned within their Hall,
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Joy! Free, at last, from vulgar thrall:
No longer need my voice be dumb;
And quicker far than thou canst call,
O Italy, I come!
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Three graces still attend me, since the day
Your step across my graceless threshold came:
Reverence, and Gratitude, and Love, their name.
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Nay, be not June, nor yet December, dear,
But April always, as I find thee now:
A constant freshness unto me be thou,
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Let us fly! It is long past eleven;
The watch-dogs are silent; the moon
Hath all but abandoned the heaven,
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I
``River rolling past the grey
Battlements of yesterday,
Palace strongholds reared by hands
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Gentle in fibre, but of steadfast nerve
Still to do right though right won blame not praise,
And fallen on evil tongues and evil days
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When piped the love-warm throstle shrill,
And all the air was laden
With scent of dew and daffodil,
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When the reaper lays the sickle by,
And taketh down the flail:
When all we prized, and all we planned,
Is ripe and stored at last,
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