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  ...where beneath their ranged gonfalons The starry cohorts shake their shielded suns, The dreadful mass of their enridged spears; Pass where majestical the eternal peers, The stately choice of the great Saintdom, meet - A silvern segregation, globed complete In sandalled shadow of the Triune feet; Pass by where wait, young poet-wayfarer, Your cousined clusters, emulous to share With you the roseal lightnings burning 'mid their hair; Pass the crystalline sea, the Lampads seven:- Look for me in the nurseries of Heaven.

THE POPPY--TO MONICA

Summer set lip to earth's bosom bare. And left the flushed print in a poppy there: Like a yawn of fire from the grass it came, And the fanning wind puffed it to flapping flame.
With burnt mouth red like a lion's it drank The blood of the sun as he slaughtered sank, And dipped its cup in the purpurate shine When the eastern conduits ran with wine.
Till it grew lethargied with fierce bliss, And hot as a swinked gipsy is, And drowsed in sleepy...   Thompson, Francis

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