Ii

No; lovers yet shall tell the nightingale Sometimes a song that we of old time made, And gossips gathered at the twilight ale Shall say, “Those two were friends,” or, “Unafraid Of bitter thought were those because they loved Better than most.” And sometimes shall be told How one, who died in his young beauty, moved, As Astrophel, those English hearts of old. And the new seas shall take the new ships home Telling how yet the Dymock orchards stand, And you shall walk with Julius at Rome, And Paul shall be my fellow in the Strand; There in the midst of all those words shall be Our names, our ghosts, our immortality.