VII

Though all things breathe or sound of fight That yet make up your spell, To bid you were to bid the light Farewell.

Farewell the song says only, being A star whose race is run: Farewell the soul says never, seeing The sun.

Yet, wellnigh as with flash of tears, The song must say but so That took your praise up twenty years Ago.

More bright than stars or moons that vary, Sun kindling heaven and hell, Here, after all these years, Queen Mary, Farewell.