Richard Hovey

There are worser ills to face Than foemen in the fray; And many a man has fought because— He feared to run away.

There is no sorrow like a love denied Nor any joy like love that has its will.

Love seeks a guerdon; friendship is as God, Who gives and asks no payment.

Shall the iron argue with the smith what it would be? Or, shall the wrought iron reason with the monger To whom it would be sold?

How loving is the Lord God and how strong withal!

The great white cold walks abroad!

The East and the West in the spring of the world shall blend As a man and a woman that plight Their troth in the warm spring night.

For ’t is always fair weather When good fellows get together With a stein on the table and a good song ringing clear.

Spring in the world! And all things are made new!

I have need of the sky, I have business with the grass; I will up and get me away where the hawk is wheeling Lone and high, And the slow clouds go by. I will get me away to the waters that glass

Praise be to you, O hills, that you can breathe Into our souls the secret of your power!

Who would not rather founder in the fight Than not have known the glory of the fray?

Nor love they least Who strike with right good will To vanquish ill And fight God’s battle upward from the beast.

The people blossoms armies and puts forth The splendid summer of its noiseless might.

In all climes we pitch out tents, Cronies of the elements, With the secret lords of birth Intimate and free.