AN OLD STORYIIt was roses, roses, all the way,With myrtle mixed in my path like mad:The house-roofs seemed to heave and sway,The church-spires flamed, such flags they had,A year ago on this very day.IIThe air broke into a mist with bells,The old walls rocked with the crowd and cries.Had I said, "Good folk, mere noise repels—But give me your sun from yonder skies!"They had answered, "And afterward,...