To Dr. John Brown - Sonnets
By Algernon Charles Swinburne
Beyond the north wind lay the land of old
Where men dwelt blithe and blameless, clothed and fed
With joys bright raiment and with loves sweet bread,
The whitest flock of earths maternal fold.
None there might wear about his brows enrolled
A light of lovelier fame than rings your head,
Whose lovesome love of children and the dead
All men give thanks for: I far off behold
A dear dead hand that links us, and a light
The blithest and benignest of the night,
The night of deaths sweet sleep, wherein may be
A star to show your spirit in present sight
Some happier island in the Elysian sea
Where Rab may lick the hand of Marjorie.