KYN VYTTYN (BEFORE MORNING).

Go back, sweet slip of cambric to my own,
        And bid her wait for day:
The night is wet, the windy stars are flown,
The taller trees beside the river moan,
        The dawn can be but gray.

Cambric and tears: rain on a soul a-fire:
        Dew in the tulip’s heart:
The trampled lane is ankle-deep in mire,
Yet orchard birds, in undesponding quire,
        Sing lauds for those who part.

=Go back to her, the light is spreading fast,
        Tell her my lips are dumb:
Clouds veil the sun; but say that at the last
Each storm-torn sail and every shaken mast
        To some safe port must come.

                                                                        L.C. Duncombe-Jewell.

4 Mîs Mê, 1903.