January 23

The night is far spent, the day is at hand.

A LITTLE time we gain from time To set our seasons in some chime,

For harsh or sweet or loud or low,

With seasons played out long ago

And souls that in their time and prime

Took part with summer or with snow,

Lived abject lives out or sublime,

And had their chance of seed to sow

For service or disservice done

To those dead days and this their son.

A little time that we may fill

Or with such good works or such ill

As loose the bonds or make them strong

Wherein all manhood suffers wrong.

By rose-hung river and light-foot rill

There are who rest not; who think long,

Till they discern as from a hill

At the sun's hour of morning song,

Known of souls only, and those souls free,

The sacred spaces of the sea.

ALGERNON

CHARLES

SWIN-

BURNE

A CHARACTER