I. THE TREES br THERE is no glory of the sunset here! br Heavy the clouds upon the darkening road, br And heavy, too, the wind upon the trees! br The trees sway, making moan br Continuous, like breaking seas. br impotent, bare things, br You give at last the very cry of earth! br I walk this darkening road in solemn mood: br Within deep hell came Dante to a wood br Like him I marvel at the crying trees! br br br II. THE STAR br A mighty star anear has drawn and now br Is vibrant on the air br br The half-divested, trembling trees of his br Bright presence are aware br br Below within the stream I him behold br Between the marge and main - br br My bone and flesh, what dust they'll be when he, br That star, dips here again! br br br III. THE CAPTIVE ARCHER br To-morrow I will bend the bow: br My soul shall have her mark again, br My bosom feel the archer's strain. br No longer pacing to and fro br With idle hands and listless brain: br br As goes the arrow, forth I go. br My soul shall have her mark again, br My bosom feel the archer's strain. br To-morrow I will bend the bow. br br br IV. TRIUMPHATORS br The drivers in the sunset race br Their coal-carts over cobble-stones br Not draymen but tnumphators: br Their bags are left with Smith and Jones, br They let the horses take their stride, br Which toss their forelocks in their pride. br br Not blue nor green these factions wear br Which make career o'er Dublin stones; br But Pluto his own livery br Is what each whip-carrier owns. br The Caesar of the cab-rank, I br Salute the triumph speeding by.