Yeartide

[…] And promised whatever the yeartides would bring To this wish of his friend he would fervently cling.

And soft the yeartides creep: O sweet, O lasting sleep!

Or phylacteries on skulls unyielding, While our river of days flows dark With a yeartide of days, a yeartide of nights Unhallowed, unhallowed?

Peter & 2-Js & I joined in a flower bunch, besides which I also sent her a 15 bob sheaf on my own, with gum-leafage — the sole homish stuff havable here at this yeartide — there among.

A-dream, we rock at home. So, lasting-sweet is sleep: With sails forever furled. Forgot is all the world, And soft the yeartides creep: O sweet, O lasting sleep!

There will be a tourney in three days, as always at Yeartide. You could enter those events at which you may excel.