24 AUGUST 1895, Page 17

POETRY.

QUARR ABBEY RUINS, (CISTERCIAN, WHITE MONKS), NEAR BINSTEAD, ISLE OF WIGHT.

Nobile Mud monaaterinm Camerarim."—Ass. MONABT.

Low level with the sward, the grey-green tide In half light sparkles as with silver rain, And—were it not for failure written plain In this dumb solitude, that else had sighed For deeper failure, in our present pride And empty pageant of a fevered brain- 'Twere joy that, spite of ruins made for gain, For ever lives the purpose that they hide.

Those men of old, 'twas something that they won, Who if they must remember, could forget That sting of death, the lust that makes life's fret, By one pure ofrring of a will undone.

They tuned their life to one unbroken prayer, Such music as we've lost—and ill can spare.

E. E. KILBURN.