When my poor bones are hearsed in quiet clay,
And final sleep hath sealed my wondering eyes,
The moon as now will sail through tranquil skies;
The soft wind in the meadow-grasses play;
And sacred Eve, with half-closed eyelids, dream;
And Dawn, with rosy fingers, draw the veils
Of silver from her shining face; and gales
Sing loudly; and the rain from eaveshoots stream
With bubbling music. Seek my soul in these;
I am a part of them; and they will keep
Perchance the music which I wrought with tears.
When the moon shines above the silent trees
Your eyes shall see me; and when soft as sleep
Come murmurs of the rain, ah, bend your ears!
* * * * *
_Printed by Hasell, Watson and Viney, Ld., London and Aylesbury._
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_WORKS BY FREDERIC MANNING_
SCENES AND PORTRAITS
_Crown 8vo. 6s._
"It is excellent work of a rare kind, and will leaven a large lump of
current literature."--_Times._
"Son imagination, sa curiosité amusée, son érudition lui donnent cette
tournure d'esprit et cette originalité d'expression qui nous séduisent
si particulièrement chez M. Remy de Gourmont."
_Mercure de France._
"Since Mr. Arnold, there has been no such ironist in this country as
the author of 'Scenes and Portraits.' Irony is not an English quality;
and Mr. Manning's is distinctly not an English book. It is Latin in
its intelligence, in its disregard of consequences, in its
presentation of the pure idea. If Lucian, Landor, Renan, and Anatole
France could have collaborated, the result would have been some such
work as this."--_Edinburgh Review_, October 1909.
"They have a curious originality, and, though fantastic in the
extreme, are always singularly alert and attractive. They will be
welcomed because they contain much that is fresh and unexpected and
stimulating."--_Observer._
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