Three equally sized squares. Each square depicts a stylized animal and wildlife. From left to right, the animals are a fox, a stag, and a hare. Full-page illustration. Illustration and caption are gold.

In Praise of Youth. Τερπνᾶς χρυσοστεφάνοιο καρπὸς ἥβας With faces bright, as ruddy corn Touched by the sunlight of the morn : With rippling hair ; and gleaming eyes, Wherein a sea of passion lies ; Hair waving back, and eyes, that gleam With treasures of perpetual dream : With full lips curving into song : With shapely limbs, upright and strong : The youths on holy service throng. Vested in white, upon their brows Are wreaths of roseal wilding boughs : And flowers, they strow along the way, Still dewy from the springs of day : So to each reverend altar come, They stand in adoration : some Swing up gold censers ; till the air Is blue and sweet with smoke of rare Spices, that fetched from Egypt were. In voices of calm, choral tone, Praise they each God, with praise his own : As children of the Gods, is seen Their glad solemnity of mien ; So fair a spirit of the skies Is in their going : and their eyes Look out upon the peopled earth, As theirs were some diviner birth ; So clear and courtly is their mirth. Lights of the labouring world, they seem : Or, to the tired, like some fresh stream. Their dignity of perfect youth Compels devotion, as doth truth : So right seems all, they do, they are. Old age looks, wistful, from afar, To watch their beauty ; as they go, Radiant and free, in ordered row ; And fairer, in the watching, grow. Fair though it be, to watch unclose The nestling glories of a rose, Depth on rich depth, soft fold on fold : Though fairer be it, to behold Stately and sceptral lilies break To beauty, and to fragrance wake : Yet fairer still, to see and sing, One fair thing is, one matchless thing ; Youth, in its perfect blossoming. The magic of a golden grace Brings fire, and sweetness, on each face : Till, from their passage, every heart Takes fire, and sweetness in the smart : Till virtue lives, for all who own Their loveliness, in them alone : Till careless hearts, and idle, take Delight in living, for their sake ; Worship their footsteps, and awake. To be their friend, the common throng Would dare all bounds of right and wrong : To win their welcome, clasp their hands, Would lie in wait for their commands : But vain ! In no unlovely pride, They hold together, side by side : How should they love the crowd of men ; Whose nobleness is now and then ; With nothing gracious in their ken ? Where now is death ? Where that gray land ? These fearless eyes, these white brows grand, That take full sunlight and blithe air, With rapture, just and debonair ; These have not known the touch of death ! The world hath winds : these forms have breath. But, should death dare, should dear life set, Calm would each go : Farewell ! forget Me dead : live you serenely yet. Beside the tremulous, blue sea, Clear at sundown, they love to be : Yet they are never sad, but then. For sorrow touches them, as men, Looking upon the calm of things, That go ; that cast foreshadowings Of holy and of ancient awe ; The charm of immemorial Law : What we see now, the great dead saw ! But the red sun is gone : and beams Of gracile moonlight waken dreams, Dreams, and the mysteries of peace : Shall this fair darkness ever cease ? Here is no drear, no fearful, Power : But life grows fuller with each hour, Full of the silence, that is best. Earth lies, with soothed and quiet breast, Beneath the guardian stars, at rest. At night, behold them ! Where lamps burn By moonlit olives, how they turn Full faces toward the sailing moon, Nigh lovelier than beneath high noon ! Throw back their comely moulded throats, Whence music on the night wind floats ! And, through the fragrant hush of night, Their lustrous eyes make darkness bright : Their laugh loads darkness with delight. Almost the murmuring sea is hushed : Their eyes on fire, their bright limbs flushed, They dominate the night with love : While the stars burn and flash above, These kindle through the dark such flame, As is not seen, and hath no name : Can night bear more ? Can nature bend In benediction without end, Over this love of friend for friend ? The music of their sighing parts The silence : and their beating hearts Beat to a measure of despair : So great it is, to be so fair ! So strange it is, to be so young ! While fire consumes them, lo ! hath sprung The morning to the heart of night : Day comes with solemnizing light : Calm takes them ; and they stand upright. Magnificent in early bloom, Like Gods, they triumph over gloom : All things desirable are theirs, Of beauty, and of wonder, heirs : Their cities, vassals are ; which give Them thanks and praise, because they live : Strong, they know nothing of dismay ; Fair, they serve beauty every day ; Young, the sun loves to light their way. See them ! the springing of the palm Is nought, beside their stately calm : The rippling of cool water dies To nought, before their clear replies : The smile, that heralds their bright thought, Brings down the splendid sun to nought. See them ! they walk the earth in state : In right of loveliness, held great : On whom, the powers of nature wait. No sceptre theirs, but they are kings : Their forms and words are royal things. Their simple friendship is a court, Whither the wise and great resort. No homage of the world, they claim : But in all places lives their fame. Sun, moon, and stars: the earth, the sea ; Yea ! all things, that of beauty be ; Honour their true divinity. Lionel Johnson .