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Poem by Katharine Tynan
CLOUDS is under clouds and rain For there will not come again Two, the beloved sire and son Whom all gifts were rained upon. Kindness is all done, alas, Courtesy and grace must pass, Beauty, wit and charm lie dead, Love no more may wreathe the head. Now the branch that waved so high No wind tosses to the sky; There's no flowering time to come, No sweet leafage and no bloom. Percy, golden-hearted boy, In the heyday of his joy Left his new-made bride and chose The steep way that Honour goes. Took for his the deathless song Of the love that knows no wrong: Could I love thee, dear, so true Were not Honour more than you? (Oh, forgive, dear Lovelace, laid In this mean Procrustean bed!) Dear, I love thee best of all When I go, at England's call. In our magnificent sky aglow How shall we this Percy know Where he shines among the suns And the planets and the moons? Percy died for England, why, Here's a sign to know him by! There's one dear and fixèd star, There's a youngling never far. Percy and his father keep The old loved companionship, And shine downward in one ray Where at Clouds they wait for day.
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