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Swinburne seemed to fit in somehow.

"Oh, winter's rains and ruins are over,
And all the seasons of snows and sins;
The days dividing lover and lover,
The light that loses, the night that wins;
And time remembered is grief forgotten,
And frosts are slain and flowers begotten,
And in green underwood and cover,
Blossom by blossom the spring begins.
"The full streams feed on flower of--"

"What's the matter, Amory? Amory's thinking about poetry, about the
pretty birds and flowers. I can see it in his eye."
"No, I'm not," he lied. "I'm thinking about the Princetonian. I ought
to make up to-night; but I can telephone back, I suppose."
"Oh," said Kerry respectfully, "these important men--"
Amory flushed and it seemed to him that Ferrenby, a defeated competitor,
winced a little. Of course, Kerry was only kidding, but he really
mustn't mention the Princetonian.
It was a halcyon day, and as they neared the shore and the salt breezes
scurried by, he began to picture the ocean and long, level stretches of
sand and red roofs over blue sea.


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