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RECOLLECTINS OF CHRIST'S HOSPITAL, by             Poet's Biography
First Line: Book, lie you there: such borrowed wings
Last Line: Nought can remove.
Alternate Author Name(s): Blunden, Edmund
Subject(s): Hospitals

BOOK, lie you there: such borrowed wings
Droop sadly when the morning springs,
And in my heart a spirit sings
A sunrise air,

An air that links the pride of boys
With elder character and poise,
Playing on hopes and dreams and joys
I used to share.

Now soars the note, now sighs, now booms,
Is blithe as April showering blooms,
Is grave as Bodley's chaptered rooms --
All calmly blends

To this cool gale that laves my cheek,
And divine morning's rosy streak
Lights up the brows of these who speak,
Old and young friends.

Sound awakes sight; the secret song
Is panorama free and strong;
From music's doors like princes throng
The phoenix hours.

See, those in playing-fields excel,
And crowning action casts its spell
On humble hundreds watching well
Their heroes' powers;

And those with no less sinew speed
In many a classic grove or mead,
Longing to bear that torch indeed
That lights all time.

With faith so bright our WOODHAMS burst
Through gusts and sleet to finish first,
And gallant STEVENSON rehearsed
The antique rhyme.

And all in harmonied advance
Were manning for rich circumstance,
And beauty was the ordinance
Of that dear school:

In chime, in hymn, in careful trade,
In sunshine contest, far parade,
In storied pane, and statued shade,
In honour's rule.

Still through the queenly-gentle land
How many a clear-eyed beaming band
With Oberon's folk strayed hand in hand!
Past woodcourts dim

Far gates gleamed white; petals and dews
Fell to adorn our Tudor shoes;
Even wailing winter's foam and ooze
Was life in limb.

O fading sense! O swift, as deep,
Departing anthem! Will must weep;
Words like consumption's shadows creep
Though love upsoars;

Though I would give my best, to tell
Those annals, each fine syllable;
Perhaps, to-day, some happy bell
Reveals those doors

Where Lamb once passed, the master soul,
To hear Saint Matthew's sermons roll,
And the young multitude extol
Kind London's love,

And, echoing fainter, leads away
To those new roofs in Sussex clay
Where nests that pledge of heaven, that ray
Nought can remove.

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