HE -.SHADE 
 YGDRKSIb 
 
 "=o^^fe^ 
 
 FREDERICK- PETERSON 
 

 
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IN THE SHADE OF YGDRASIL 
 
 / 
 
 FREDERICK PETERSON, M.D. 
 
 I know of an ash-tree 
 Named Ygdrasil 
 ***** 
 Standing ever green 
 At the holy fountain ; 
 Thence come the Norns. 
 
 Saemund's Edda. 
 
 G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS 
 
 NEW YORK LONDON 
 
 27 \TEST TWRNTY-THIRD STREHT 24 BEDFORD STREET, STRAND 
 
 Vc^i linithcrbocha |1rrss 
 1893 
 
 JL/^ 22 189 
 
 
7S 3<S'31 
 
 COPYRIGHT, i8g3 
 BY 
 
 FREDERICK PETERSON 
 
 Electrotyped, Printed, and Bound by 
 
 Ube TRnicfterbocfter press, IRew 13orft 
 G. P. Putnam's Sons 
 
NOTE. 
 
 Some of the following verses were published in a 
 volume entitled Foems and Swedish Translations in 
 1883. Others have appeared since then in Lippincott' s 
 Magazine^ the Cosmopolitan^ the London Academy^ and 
 other periodicals, and the author must acknowledge his. 
 indebtedness to their publishers for the right to reprint 
 them. 
 
 New York, March, iSgj. ^ 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Heredity . . i 
 
 Environment 3 
 
 Microcosm 4 
 
 The Sweetest Flower That Blows 5 
 
 Solitude 6 
 
 Resurgam 7 
 
 The Idiot 8 
 
 The Flame in the Wind 9 
 
 The Crusader 10 
 
 The Wayside Crucifix n . .11 
 
 In the Harz 12 
 
 Villanelle 13 
 
 The Sicilian Triad 15 
 
 A Study in Gray . . » 17 
 
 Happiness iS 
 
 Sorrow ig 
 
 Cremation .20 
 
 V 
 
VI CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 IX THE RoSE-GARDEN OF SaADI 22 
 
 My Lady Lay All Listlessly 23 
 
 A Morning Song 24 
 
 To Psyche 25 
 
 The Zoroastrian 26 
 
 Between the Twilight and the Dawn . . . .27 
 
 An Unforgotten Song 29 
 
 Solace ........... 30 
 
 ^YHAT Dying Is 31 
 
 In Prison 33 
 
 The Arrows 34 
 
 The Water-Lilies 35 
 
 The Robber 37 
 
 Snov\^ ' 38 
 
 On the Moldau 39 
 
 Foreshadowing 40 
 
 A Night Thought 41 
 
 Autumn Song 42 
 
 A Rainy Night 43 
 
 At the Green-Fir Tavern 45 
 
 To A Songstress 47 
 
 The Sisters 49 
 
 Clairvoyance 50 
 
 To THE Silent King 51 
 
CONTENTS Vll 
 
 Page 
 
 The Blind Man and the Sleeper 54 
 
 The Bluebells' Chorus ........ 58 
 
 The Nun 59 
 
 Remorse 60 
 
 Sphinx Fountain 61 
 
 Visitation 62 
 
 The Quest 63 
 
 Off Crete . • 64 
 
 Winter 65 
 
 A Ballad of War-Time 66 
 
 To Little Rosalie 68 
 
 The Wraith and the Roses 70 
 
 The Pythoness 71 
 
 The Poem 72 
 
 To AN Outcast 73 
 
 Lenau 74 
 
 The Mummy ^. .75 
 
 To Lili 76 
 
 Hide and Seek 77 
 
 Moonrise 78 
 
 The Phantoms in my Dreams Resemble . . . .79 
 
 Say not Good-bye 80 
 
 A Health 81 
 
 To a Modern Lilith 82 
 
VIU 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 A Wish .... 
 
 Steadfastness 
 
 From the Prison Windows 
 
 The Lonely House 
 
 Nature and Man . 
 
 The Unknown Music 
 
 The Oasis 
 
 Migration 
 
 Slumber Song . 
 
 To Count Carl von Snoilsky 
 
 Where'er You Go . 
 
 An Idle Sparrow's Song 
 
 Her Soul and Body 
 
 A Wood Thought . 
 
 Reincarnation 
 
 Sunset .... 
 
 Resignation 
 
 In a Dahabiah 
 
 Resurrection . 
 
 Starlight and Bulbul . 
 
 The Dream-Child . 
 
 With Some Lilies-of-the- Valley 
 
 For a Dead Comedian . 
 
 Fate .... 
 
 PAGE 
 
 83 
 
 84 
 
 85 
 S6 
 
 87 
 88 
 89 
 90 
 
 91 
 92 
 
 93 
 
 94 
 95 
 96 
 
 97- 
 98 
 
 99 
 100 
 103 
 104 
 105 
 106 
 107 
 108 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 
 
 
 
 ix 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Lost Argostks ........ 109 
 
 Hypnotism 
 
 
 
 
 
 III 
 
 Hopes 
 
 
 
 
 
 112 
 
 No MORK 
 
 
 
 
 
 113 
 
 Wind-Music 
 
 
 
 
 
 114 
 
 Do Not Grow Old .... 
 
 
 
 
 
 116 
 
 Two Violets Shining in the Dew 
 
 
 
 
 
 117 
 
 The Church of St. Jacques . 
 
 
 
 
 
 118 
 
 Rondel 
 
 
 
 
 
 119 
 
 A Song of Yesterday 
 
 
 
 
 
 120 
 
 East and West 
 
 
 
 
 
 121 
 
 Reminiscence of Tatoi . 
 
 
 
 
 
 122 
 
 With a Book of Verses .... 
 
 
 
 
 
 123 
 
IN THE SHADE OF YGDRASIL 
 
 HEREDITY. 
 
 I MEET upon the woodland ways 
 
 At morn a lady fair ; 
 Adown her slender shoulders strays 
 
 Her raven hair ; 
 
 And none who looks into her eyes 
 Can fail to feel and know 
 
 That in this conscious clay there lies 
 Some soul aglow. 
 
 But I, who meet her oft about 
 The woods in morning song, 
 
 I see behind her far stretch out 
 A ghostly throng — 
 
IN THE SHADE OF YGDRASIL. 
 
 A priest, a prince, a lord, a maid. 
 
 Faces of grief and sin, 
 A high-born lady and a jade, 
 
 A harlequin — 
 
 Two lines of ghosts in masquerade, 
 Who push her where they will, 
 
 As if it were the wind that swayed 
 A daffodil. 
 
 She sings, she weeps, she smiles, she sighs,. 
 
 Looks cruel, sweet or base ; 
 The features of her fathers rise 
 
 And haunt her face. 
 
 As if it were the wind that swayed 
 
 Some stately daffodil. 
 Upon her face they masquerade 
 
 And work their will. 
 
ENVIRONMENT. 
 
 High up around the mountain rock 
 
 Wild sweep the lightning and the storm ; 
 
 The spruce grows firm against their shock, 
 Stunted and gnarled and rude of form, 
 
 With twisted roots that interlock. 
 
 But by the rivulet far below, 
 
 Up from the rich dark loam and drift, 
 Where storms come not and winds are slow, 
 
 Behold the stately willow lift 
 And sway long branches to and fro ! 
 
MICROCOSM. 
 
 Upon the morning path one sees, 
 When all the land is green and new, 
 
 The sun, the skies, the clouds, the trees, 
 Deep-mirrored in a drop of dew. 
 
 Ah, had we more than mortal eyes 
 To pierce the sombre shadows here, 
 
 Might we not see how trembling lies 
 The universe within a tear ? 
 
THE SWEETEST FLOWER THAT BLOWS. 
 
 The sweetest flower that blows 
 
 I give you. as we part ; 
 For you it is a rose ; 
 
 For me it is my heart. 
 
 The fragrance it exhales, 
 
 (Ah, if you only knew !) 
 Which but in dying fails, 
 
 It is my love of you. 
 
 The sweetest flower that grows 
 
 I give you as we part ; 
 You think it but a rose ; 
 
 Ah, me ! it is my heart. 
 
SOLITUDE. 
 
 It is the bittern's solemn cry 
 Far out upon the lonely moors, 
 
 Where steel-gray pools reflect the sky, 
 And mists arise in dim contours. 
 
 Save this, no murmur on their verge 
 Doth stir the stillness of the reeds ; 
 
 Silent the water-snakes emerge 
 
 From writhing depths of water-weeds. 
 
 Through sedge or gorse of that morass 
 There shines no light of moon or star ; 
 
 Only the fen-fires gleam and pass 
 Along the low horizon bar. 
 
 It is the bittern's solemn cry. 
 
 As if it voiced, with mournful stress, 
 
 The strange hereditary sigh 
 Of age on age of loneliness. 
 
RESURGAM. 
 
 The stars shine clearly in the winter night ; 
 
 Beneath the ice no stream is heard to run ; 
 The old green fields are still and waste and white ; 
 
 River and field are now become as one. 
 
 But not for aye shall all this silence be, 
 
 Erelong new life shall stir beneath the snow, 
 
 And we may hear quite softly presently 
 
 The murmur of grasses and the river's flow. 
 
 So, O my heart, though thou mayst soon become 
 Likewise as cold, and lie as silently, 
 
 It is not long that thou must sleep, be dumb, 
 Before again new life shall thrill through thee ! 
 
THE IDIOT. 
 
 Through his misshapen soul and brain 
 No thought has passed and left its trace, 
 
 And all that brings man joy and pain, 
 Finds in his heart no dwelling-place ; 
 His life is the world's stain. 
 
 The horrid vacant visage leers 
 And shows its heritage of woe, 
 
 Its scars — the sins of ancient years. 
 Could any love or hate it ? — No ! 
 Pity may give her tears. 
 
THE FLAME IN THE WIND. 
 
 It starts and shivers, pales and trembles, 
 Now fixed and certain, now despairing ; 
 
 Now thin, it some wan ghost resembles. 
 Once bright and beaming and uncaring. 
 
 At length behold it leap and quiver, 
 
 With its last strength, but fade in trying 
 
 Thus I too start and pale and shiver, 
 Now fixed and certain and now dying. 
 
THE CRUSADER. 
 
 His loved ones from the turret see 
 
 The knight with lance and shining mail 
 
 Who rides away across the lea — 
 
 O Heaven forbid that he should fail ! 
 
 Long years he fights in holy wars 
 
 In the far lands of Palestine, 
 And now returning with his scars, 
 
 He dreams of those who wait and pine. 
 
 Victorious from the Holy Lands, 
 He seeks again his native shores ; 
 
 Red in the sun his castle stands — 
 
 But weeds have groivn before his doors / 
 
THE WAYSIDE CRUCIFIX. 
 
 A WOODEN Christ, beside the way, 
 It marks this still and sacred spot, 
 
 Where people passing, pause to pray 
 That He forget them not. 
 
 The winds are cold and black the skies, 
 The rain falls from that drooping face 
 
 Like tears, like tears from sorrowing eyes, 
 And floods the holy place. 
 
 It is a pitying Christ ! alas ! 
 
 And shall I halt or shall I flee ? 
 O should I pray here as I pass 
 
 That He forget not me? 
 
 II 
 
IN THE HARZ. 
 
 Across the mountain and the valley 
 The goat-bells tinkle, tinkle, tinkle ; 
 
 The warm winds whisper, sing and dally 
 In heather bloom and periwinkle ; 
 
 The fir-trees change their gloom for smiling ; 
 
 The long sounds from the distant churches 
 Float up enchanting and beguiling, 
 
 And lose themselves among the birches ; 
 
 The red-roofed hamlets seem like roses 
 Which drowsily the eyes may number, 
 
 And far and wide the blue sky closes 
 
 O'er those who dream and those who slumber. 
 
 12 
 
VILLANELLE. 
 
 Through these long months thy love shall bless 
 
 A lonely roamer over seas, 
 So love me more and sorrow less. 
 
 Each tender smile, each past caress — 
 
 How very dear to him are these, 
 Whom through long years thy love shall bless, 
 
 Who to his bosom aye shall press 
 
 The new-found flower of love — heart's-6ase ! 
 So love me more and sorrow less. 
 
 To listening Fates each night address 
 
 A low-voiced prayer upon thy knees, 
 That they long years our love may bless. 
 13 
 
14 IN THE SHADE OF YGDRASIL, 
 
 Perhaps the pitying Sisters guess 
 
 How Hope the loveless bosom flees : 
 Love, love me tnor-e — to sorrow less I 
 
 Love shall come back in tenderness, 
 Across the months, across the seas. 
 The steadfast love thy love doth bless ; 
 So love me more and sorrow less. 
 
THE SICILIAN TRIAD. 
 
 Where are they gone, 
 
 Ah, whither fled. 
 The songs at dawn ? 
 Where are they gone ? 
 We muse upon 
 
 Their singers dead. 
 Where are they gone, 
 
 Ah, whither fled ? 
 
 Sweet sounds they drew 
 From heath and hill, 
 Where soft winds blew — 
 Sweet sounds they drew, 
 Grown faint and few 
 
 And almost still ; 
 Sweet sounds they drew 
 From heath and hill. 
 15 
 
1 6 JN THE SHADE OF YGDRASIL. 
 
 Ah, now no more 
 
 Such songs are sung. 
 The years of yore 
 Come now no more, 
 With their sweet lore 
 In sweeter tongue. 
 Ah, now no more 
 Such songs are sung. 
 
A STUDY IN GRAY. 
 
 The trees are gray, and gray the grasses, 
 Since autumn flamed and died in glory ; 
 The skies, the seas, the mountain-masses, 
 Are gray and hoary. 
 
 The light grows gray when evening flashes 
 Her beams across the tower and spire ; 
 And ah, how gray are now the ashes 
 Of love once fire ! 
 
HAPPINESS. 
 
 She smiles and sings the livelong day — 
 
 A very happy maiden she, 
 Whose blessed fancies charm away 
 
 Her sorrows and her misery. 
 
 How sad and strange the people here ! 
 
 They sigh and shriek and whisper things 
 To shun, to loathe, to dread, to fear — 
 
 But all the day she smiles and sings. 
 
 'T is sweet to know that there can be 
 Someone whose woe has taken wings — 
 
 A very happy creature she 
 
 Who all the day long smiles and sings ! 
 
 i8 
 
SORROW. 
 
 'She came a queen in robes of gray, 
 And doleful chants her maidens sung ; 
 
 She drove alas ! all joy away, 
 
 With her sad eyes and mournful tongue. 
 
 "And art thou really Sorrow ? " her 
 Some sudden fancy made me ask ; 
 
 She answered not, but I aver, 
 / saw her smile behind her mask I 
 
 19 
 
CREMATION. 
 
 Thou tender blossom, more than human, 
 Because so fair and pure and humble, 
 
 O lovely flower, how could I doom one 
 So dear to droop defiled — to crumble 
 Like man and woman ! 
 
 And so, thou flower of flowers, I swore it 
 That one thing, one, should not so perish. 
 
 That mocking Fate should laugh not o'er it. 
 Not alway mar what most I cherish, 
 While I deplore it. 
 
 Thus on the white hot coals I place thee, 
 Among the ferns of some gone aeon ; 
 
 In shining vesture they do grace thee, 
 And perfumes as from isles ^gean 
 Do soft embrace thee. 
 
 20 
 
IN THE SHADE OF YGDRASIL. 21 
 
 No taint, no blemish, naught but ashes — 
 Of such fine death thy frame is worthy : 
 
 The ermine couch with damask flashes, 
 Quick change of heavenly back to earthy, 
 No soul abashes. 
 
 O bud half-open, thy sweet splendor 
 
 Is risen from the fiery portal, 
 And atoms which through stem so slender 
 
 Had crept into a bloom immortal, 
 Their work surrender ! 
 
IN THE ROSE-GARDEN OF SAADI. 
 
 A RARE old garden this is, Saadi ; 
 You made it centuries ago, 
 But roses here still bloom and blow, 
 
 And souls are called here from the body 
 To wander happily to and fro. 
 
 A rare old garden, Saadi, this is. 
 
 To walk in when the winds are brusk ; 
 These flowers exhale an opiate musk 
 
 Which soothes the spirit in its blisses 
 Afloat upon the purple dusk. 
 
 This garden, Saadi, rare and old is : 
 Whom can I ask to share its bloom, 
 Its damask vapors and perfume. 
 
 Its red beds where the sunset's gold is ? 
 Whom else to share it, Saadi, whom ? 
 
MY LADY LAY ALL LISTLESSLY. 
 
 My lady lay all listlessly, 
 With the doomed day about to die ; 
 And did her lips in moving pray ? 
 'T was thus my lady lay. 
 
 Her eyes were full of sombre light, 
 As if she knew of nearing night 
 And gazed upon an unknown way — 
 'T was thus my lady lay. 
 
 Half rising heavily on her hand, 
 She looked a long look o'er the land 
 Growing with gloaming into gray — 
 Then low my lady lay. 
 
 A soft sob and a softer sigh, 
 Like leaves that stir when winds pass by- 
 Be meek and mourn as mourn I may, 
 For low my lady lay. 
 
 23 
 
A MORNING SONG. 
 
 The night is gone, the winds renew, 
 The stars have vanished one by one ; 
 
 The flowers uplift their cups of dew 
 And drink a health unto the sun. 
 
 The balmy air is full of bloom ; 
 
 White drifts are wafted to and fro, 
 Filling the orchard's ample room 
 
 With soft, sweet-scented summer snow. 
 
 I could no longer find my woes 
 Were I to seek them all the day ; 
 
 They are too deep in summer snows, 
 The orchard blooms are in the way ! 
 
 24 
 
TO PSYCHE. 
 
 Blown by the wind and pale as a flower or a phantom, 
 Lo ! thou gleamest again at the gate of the garden, 
 Which the sun and the moon no longer remember, 
 Nor angels keep ward in. 
 
 Come, let me once more clasp and hold and behold thee, 
 Just as of old where the last gleam red in the snows is, 
 Though there are leaves no longer, though low are the 
 lilies, 
 
 Though ruined the roses. 
 
 Stay, I will open the gate of the olden garden, 
 Wait, thou shalt enter the heart that is worn and shat- 
 tered. 
 Whose fair hopes are gone and forever forgotten. 
 Like flower-leaves scattered. 
 
 Circles of cloud arise on the far horizon, 
 Gather and cover with gloom the gold of the garden, 
 Which the sun and the moon no longer remember. 
 Nor angels keep ward in. 
 
 25 
 
THE ZOROASTRIAN. 
 
 As once perhaps in olden days 
 
 Beneath the far-off Persian skies, 
 Some reverent one of patient ways 
 
 Did hours before the sun arise, 
 To hasten in the starlit morn 
 
 Up some high hill when winds were cold, 
 To wait the moment day is born, 
 
 To kneel before the disk of gold ; 
 And when the long rays were descried, 
 
 Which leaped forth from the golden rim 
 Of that great star he deified, 
 
 To pour out orisons to him — 
 As may have done this devotee, 
 
 I wake, I wait, I kneel to thee I 
 
 26 
 
BETWEEN THE TWILIGHT AND THE DAWN. 
 
 Between the twilight and the dawn, 
 
 While slumber holds my limbs and senses, 
 
 Save the slow breathing, life has gone 
 And left to sleep her slight defenses. 
 
 How still my body lies, how quiet, 
 Between the twilight and the dawn ! 
 
 How much more madly fancies riot 
 Because it sleeps in silence on ! 
 
 How much more wild, how much more free. 
 How much more fanciful my soul is ! 
 
 It roams thy room, unknown to thee, ^ 
 Entranced among thy holy holies. 
 
 And oh, if it do bend so near 
 
 That thy too tremulous lips it brushes, 
 
 Yet in thy dreaming have no fear, 
 But sleep on in unbroken hushes ! 
 27 
 
28 IN THE SHADE OF YGDRASIL. 
 
 To some sweet place my soul is gone, 
 
 While slumber holds my limbs and senses, 
 
 Between the twilight and the dawn — 
 O Death, destroy their frail defenses 
 
 And let them moveless slumber on ! 
 
AN UNFORGOTTEN SONG. 
 
 One day to me an angel gave 
 A melody unknx)wn of men ; 
 
 Down in my heart I made a grave — 
 The song I buried then. 
 
 I did not make the grave so deep 
 In that long gone remembered hour, 
 
 But that its ghost now haunts my sleep 
 With all its mournful power. 
 
 There is a murmuring in my sleep — 
 A melody unknown of men — ^ 
 
 I did not make its grave so deep 
 But that it comes again. 
 
 29 
 
SOLACE. 
 
 When ills assail you and Hope shows no way, 
 
 And Beauty dwells apart, 
 Then shut your eyes against the garish day, 
 
 Look down into your heart ! 
 
 When sordid cares quench even the soul's light, 
 
 And discord dims and mars, 
 Go forth into the loneliness of night 
 
 And scan the quiet stars ! 
 
 30 
 
WHAT DYING IS. 
 
 To leave the turmoil and the careful tumult, 
 And wander vaguely to a pleasant region 
 Where green fields glow with sheen of summer sunset, 
 And narrow farther to a sylvan vista 
 Whence issue sounds to soothe the spirit's trouble ; 
 To hear the laugh and gurgle of low waters, 
 And young birds singing with diviner music, 
 And young birds carolling with lovelier music, 
 And evening winds that walk with fainter footfall 
 Unto the white clouds and the bluer sky-depths ; 
 To rest a little some green willow under. 
 Whose branches whisper in the shadow-garden. 
 And hold the hand which hath the tenderest pressure. 
 And touch sweet lips just as thine eyes are closing : 
 This is that failing ere the sunset's fading, 
 This is that dying ere the morn immortal. 
 31 
 
32 IN THE SHADE OF YGDRASIL. 
 
 To see blue-hooded violets reposing 
 
 Among the grasses twining to caress thee 
 
 And kiss thy cheek, as if thou wert a sister, 
 
 And warm thee with their breath of heavenly odor. 
 
 As if thou wert to them indeed a sister ; 
 
 To find some quiet in the willow vista, 
 
 Some little slumber in the shadow-garden : 
 
 This is that evening of thy dreamless sleeping, 
 
 This is that slumber ere the life immortal. 
 
 A gentle waking to a newer beauty, 
 
 A gradual unfolding to the soul-life, 
 
 As 't were a rose's chrysalid transported 
 
 Into the blooming valley of that Eden ; 
 
 A slow unfolding of an early blossom ; 
 
 A little kneeling at the sapphire portals, 
 
 And consciousness of all surcease of heartache, 
 
 Tumultuous tremor as the soul receiveth 
 
 The grander splendor of the spheral chorus 
 
 That joy which " passeth human understanding" : 
 
 This is that coming of another morning. 
 
 This is that morning of the life immortal ! 
 
IN PRISON. 
 
 Dear maid ! put your head to my breast, you will hear 
 
 The prisoner drearily pacing his cell — 
 What 's this ! does he stumble, or dream you are near, 
 
 And dreaming you near does he stumble as well ? 
 
 For twenty long years in the gloom I have heard 
 The prisoner's footsteps — for twenty or more — 
 
 Life-sentence it is — and he never has stirred 
 
 From his steady, strong tramp till this hour before ! 
 
 Dear maid ! put your head to my breast, you will hear 
 The prisoner knock in the gloom of his cell — 
 
 How he strikes on the walls, in his frenzy and fear, 
 Lest you go and not hear what he wishes to tell ! 
 
 33 
 
THE ARROWS. 
 
 I AM sore wounded ; 
 I sat in the woodland 
 
 As the moon rose ; 
 I arose when the moon did, 
 And walked in the woodland ; 
 
 How sad the wind blows 1 
 
 She came when the moon did, 
 The sweet rose, the fair rose ; 
 
 How the wind sighs ! 
 Ah ! I am sore wounded, 
 By the keen arrows 
 
 That came from her eyes. 
 
 34 
 
THE WATER-LILIES. 
 
 On slender piles above the river, 
 
 The mansions of the lakemen stand ; 
 
 The calm blue waters kiss and quiver ; 
 The airs bring perfume from the land. 
 
 All day the lakemen dreaming lie, 
 
 The fine airs over, waters under, 
 On -golden beds beneath the sky 
 
 Which sunshine makes a golden wonder. 
 
 At night-fall close their four green doors 
 
 Lest some stray moonbeam, dangerous fellow, 
 
 Should feast upon the precious stores ' 
 Of perfume and of honey mellow. 
 
 All night the lakemen lie in slumbers, 
 The too sweet day in sleep forgetting ; 
 
 The waves chime low in tuneful numbers ; 
 No memory makes a vain regretting. 
 35 
 
36 IN THE SHADE OF YGDRASIL, 
 
 Happy the lakemen dreaming so 
 Upon their couches golden-yellow, 
 
 With nought of sorrow or of woe — 
 
 Would I were with them, careless fellow ! 
 
THE ROBBER. 
 
 Quick ! see the lawless brigand go 
 Around the hill and through the wold, 
 
 With pearls and diamonds all aglow, 
 And all agleam with stolen gold ! 
 
 Now hidden in the secret woods, 
 He hath no longer need to fret, 
 
 But softly counts his precious goods — 
 The robber is the rivulet. 
 
 37 
 
SNOW. 
 
 Some snowflakes fallen from afar, 
 
 Pale, cold, of shining purity. 
 Seem like unto a beauteous star, 
 
 But they are much more like to thee — 
 I cannot write how like they are. 
 
 The sun may look out any day, 
 And they will seek again the skies, 
 
 But not till melted quite away 
 
 To drops which sparkle like thine eyes- 
 
 Ah me, if thou wouldst melt as they ! 
 
 Because so beautiful and far, 
 
 So pale and cold in purity, 
 I deem them like a lovely star. 
 
 But they are much more like to thee — 
 Ah Heaven, how very like they are ! 
 
 38 
 
ON THE MOLDAU. 
 
 The sun lies red upon the river, 
 The last glad sun that we shall see, 
 
 For night comes soon to part forever. 
 To part forever you and me. 
 
 We have known joy, we have known sorrow, 
 We have known, ah ! too much of pain — 
 
 But more and more and more to-morrow 
 Shall come the shadows back again. 
 
 The sun lies red above the river. 
 The last glad sun that we shall see. 
 
 For night comes soon to part forever, 
 To part forever you and me. 
 
 39 
 
FORESHADOWING. 
 
 Thy innocent heart it has throbbed into breaking, 
 And a trance in thy face makes it paler and colder — 
 How blest is the fancy there may be a waking 
 When the ages are older ! 
 
 That somewhere away in the barren abysses 
 My shadow may meet thine, and mingle in meeting 
 With sweeter caresses than those of our kisses, 
 Which on earth were so fleeting ! 
 
 That mine may afar in strange regions draw near it, 
 Abroad in the cold, in the dim-lighted spaces ; 
 That again and again and again the dark spirit 
 It may clasp in embraces ! 
 
 O Fancy, sweet Fancy, steal, steal away reason, 
 And tell me when comes this divorcement from sorrow, 
 And when shall this bliss be, this heavenly season — 
 To-morrow ? To morrow. 
 
 40 
 
A NIGHT-THOUGHT. 
 
 Up from my heart's recesses, 
 In dream-wrought draperies, 
 
 Thy spirit often presses 
 Among my phantasies. 
 
 Yet spite of my persuading, 
 Erelong thou art away — 
 
 No charm can keep thy fading 
 Sweet soul till break of day. 
 
 Thou comest and thou goest, 
 
 Still, softly, silently ; 
 My heart 's the shrine thou knowest, 
 
 I '11 keep it sweet for thee. 
 
 And none shall know thy story 
 
 Until thine eyes renew 
 The sombre old brown glory 
 
 That gleamed ere they withdrew. 
 
 41 
 
AUTUMN SONG. 
 
 Mournfully we gather up the treasures of the 
 meadows, 
 Knowing that the winter will destroy the many flowers ; 
 Icy is his breath ; he ever broods amid the shadows, 
 Where of old the thrushes through the happiest of hours 
 Sang among the bowers. 
 
 Search no more the woodland's immemorial dream- 
 spaces 
 For the golden summer that had scattered her sweet 
 nard in 
 All the old remembered and most musical of places — 
 Lo ! behold the Storm-king as he spreads upon the 
 garden 
 
 Snows to drift and harden. 
 
 42 
 
A RAINY NIGHT. 
 
 The night is dark and long winds moan ; 
 
 Without, the firelight casts no glow ; 
 The rain repeats its undertone 
 
 Unceasingly of woe. 
 
 Strange ! but it seemed a face looked in, 
 So piteously and yet so mild ; 
 
 Some mother dead it must have been, 
 Who seeks her sorrowing child. 
 
 *' Come to me, grieve no more, ah, stay ! 
 
 May I not be beloved too ? 
 I will throw off these robes of clay , 
 
 To roam the earth with you." 
 
 Then all the window seemed aflame 
 From features heavenly, womanly, 
 
 *' Mother of God, I know thy name — 
 Turn not thy face from me." 
 43 
 
44 I^ THE SHADE OF YGDRASIL. 
 
 It is a dream — the long winds moan ; 
 
 Without, the firelight casts no glow ; 
 The rain repeats its undertone 
 
 Unceasingly of woe. 
 
AT THE GREEN FIR TAVERN. 
 
 Down through the windows open wide, 
 To fix the noonday on the floor, 
 
 The fir-tree's gloomy fingers glide — 
 
 They glide and pause and glide once more. 
 
 There sits the round-faced drowsy host ! 
 
 Perhaps some phantom from his pipe. 
 Floats forth to lull — some smoke-like ghost 
 
 Of Bacchus when the grape is ripe. 
 
 Without, a gray old harper stands. 
 
 And through the noiseless golden noon, 
 
 The strings pour forth beneath his hands 
 A wailing, sweet Italian tune. 
 
 A lonely traveller sits and dreams. 
 
 And dreams have filled his soul anew : 
 
 The mountain wine, the music, seems 
 To set his sad heart singing too. 
 45 
 
46 IN THE SHADE OF YGDRASIL. 
 
 For Her the harper strikes the strings ; 
 
 The traveller's dream, this song, is Hers \ 
 And loud of Her the throstle sings 
 
 Within the twilight of the firs. 
 
TO A SONGSTRESS. 
 
 A TONE melodious and low 
 
 As we have sometime heard in dreams, 
 With mellow, modulated flow 
 
 Of murmurs under streams, 
 A tone blithe birds in happy valley, 
 
 On branches swaying to and fro, 
 May answer clear and musically. 
 
 That tone islihine, and since to me x 
 It seems as sweet and rare a note 
 
 As e'er was plained by bird, or bee 
 That singeth in a lily's throat, 
 
 Then let my verse faint, far and lowly. 
 Breathe these poor praises unto thee, 
 
 As echoes of their echoes wholly. 
 47 
 
48 IN THE SHADE OF YGDRASIU 
 
 But if thy voice be sweet and rare 
 As tunes of rill and bird and bee, 
 
 Thyself art like the lily fair 
 Wherein the bee sings joyfully ; 
 
 And well do they who feel the power 
 Of one dear song of thine declare, 
 
 " Yea, thou art like unto a flower ! " 
 
THE SISTERS. 
 
 O DO you see them, the four who love me, 
 The mournful sisters, whose voices hollow 
 
 Come floating ever around, above me, 
 And call me alway to follow, follow ? 
 
 Their pale hands beckon, their forms are swaying, 
 Like white mist-columns o'er marshy sedges ; 
 
 O do you see them, the phantoms straying 
 Far down and over the world's drear edges ? 
 
 And one is sister of Sin and Sorrow — 
 
 They call her Madness, her eyes are hollow, 
 
 She knows no dying, she knows no morrow ; 
 And Death another — and " Follow, follow ! " 
 
 They wail forever around, above me — 
 
 O do you see them, the four who love me ? 
 
 49 
 
CLAIRVOYANCE. 
 
 Deep in your lovely eyes I see 
 
 A wide, mysterious domain ; 
 Shadows which flicker fitfully 
 
 Around the portals of your brain. 
 
 What phantoms hurry to and fro, 
 
 What hidden lights, what sudden gleams, 
 
 Down in the catacombs of woe, 
 
 And through the corridor of dreams ! 
 
 50 
 
TO THE SILENT KING. 
 
 THOU austere and silent king, 
 
 No more my fancies do forswear thee, 
 But to thy shadowy shrine they bring 
 This token of the love I bear thee. 
 
 Though whom thy sad and fatal eyes 
 Do fix upon must fail and falter. 
 
 Though whom they see — to-morrow dies — 
 I hang these verses at thy altar. 
 
 1 hang them at thy shrine, O king, 
 Amidst the moaning and the sighing ! 
 
 From hate I turn to worshipping, 
 And unto loving from defying. 
 
 If that God be, as mortals say. 
 
 Who changes what seems sweet to curses, 
 51 
 
52 IN THE SHADE OF YGDRASIL. 
 
 Then bids us kneel to Him and pray — 
 I turn from Him to ask thy mercies. 
 
 Or if, as fewer men conceive, 
 All soul is due to dust's endeavor 
 
 Its lowly form and place to leave — 
 How much more am I thine forever ! 
 
 For after all, to him who fails, 
 
 Whom thy stern eyes so wear and wither, 
 Thy fatal look so blights and pales. 
 
 Thy influence draws unswerving hither, 
 
 Thou grantest this : that he shall sleep 
 
 Through all these centuries' uproar listless, 
 
 In earth's great tumult silence keep — 
 A sweet oblivion and resistless. 
 
 Ah ! him thy beauteous eyes shall hold 
 Till grief is gone and past is passion ; 
 
 Then shalt thou to thy bosom fold 
 Him dreamless in thy pitying fashion. 
 
IN THE SHADE OF YGDRASIL, 53 
 
 So, Wearer of the Cypress Crown, 
 
 Thou sombre liege of my adoring, 
 Here at thy feet I lay me down, 
 
 Thy mercy and thy aid imploring : 
 
 That thou wilt erelong deign to lay 
 
 Upon my head thy hand forgetful, 
 So soothing all these shapes away 
 
 Which haunt me in this fever fretful ; 
 
 Till care and weariness shall cease 
 
 For me within these shadows kneeling, 
 
 And I shall feel thy blissful peace. 
 
 Thy drowsy languor through me stealing ; 
 
 And thou shalt hold me with thine eyes, 
 
 No more this bitterness deploring. 
 Through all these noisy centuries, 
 
 Thou silent God of my adoring ! 
 
THE BLIND MAN AND THE SLEEPER. 
 
 I DREAMED that I was blind and groping 
 
 Through some strange door, 
 Knowing not where I was, but hoping 
 
 To fathom more. 
 
 My hands had grown so quick to measure, 
 
 My ears to hear — 
 Though blind I felt a keen sweet pleasure, 
 
 But not a fear. 
 
 I thrust aside the silken curtain, 
 
 And entered there. 
 And roses' fragrance, faint, uncertain, 
 
 Filled all the air. 
 
 Upon the floor's thick heavy lining 
 I made no sound, 
 54 
 
IN THE SHADE OF YGDRASIL. 55 
 
 While carven chairs of quaint designing 
 I groped around. 
 
 Fantastic hangings, figured panels 
 
 And oaken wall, 
 Old books that haply held strange annals — 
 
 I felt them all. 
 
 Sudden I started at a sighing 
 
 And seemed to hear 
 A light breath as of someone lying 
 
 In slumber near. 
 
 The perfume of the rose grew deeper, 
 
 As to and fro 
 With the soft breathing of the sleeper, 
 
 I felt it flow. 
 
 1 stood in doubt and hope and wonder 
 
 And called a name, 
 Half-frightened lest it were a blunder — 
 
 No answer came. 
 
56 IN THE SHADE OF YGDRASIL. 
 
 And yet I knew her, I, her lover, 
 
 Who could not see, 
 And bending down I leaned above her — 
 
 The rose was she. 
 
 I felt the sofa's deep recesses, 
 
 The silken gown. 
 Whereon like one long stream, her tresses 
 
 Went flowing down. 
 
 I dared to touch the drooping eyelid, 
 The smooth curved cheek, 
 
 And fancied that in dreams she smiled 
 And fain would speak. 
 
 Though like a reed my soul was shaken 
 
 For love of her, 
 I said " No word of mine shall waken 
 
 The slumberer." 
 
 Again I stood and grasped the curtain 
 At the strange door ; 
 
IN THE SHADE OF YGDRASIL. 57 
 
 The roses' fragrance then uncertain 
 Grew more and more. 
 
 Ah, I should go and she should never 
 
 Dream that I spoke ; 
 So I passed through forever, ever — 
 
 And then awoke. 
 
 Thus must we pass through life, and dying, 
 
 Leave nought divined. 
 You sleep— how safe from sounds of sighing ! — 
 
 And I am blind. 
 
THE BLUEBELLS' CHORUS. 
 
 CHANSON FANTASTIQUE. 
 
 Our carillon will carol on 
 
 In mellow melody 
 To invisible dead Isabelle, 
 
 Who is a bell to be, 
 When the grass grows green upon her grave 
 
 And swallows follow free, 
 To cling and swing and sing again 
 
 Upon their trysting tree. 
 
 Our carillon will carol on 
 
 In firmer murmur then, 
 When the grass is green as beryl on 
 
 The new grave in the glen. 
 When invisible dead Isabelle 
 
 Is made a flower again, 
 To chime and rhyme all time with us 
 
 And know no more of men. 
 
 58 
 
THE NUN. 
 
 Hard by a lonely garden walk, 
 Too darkly hid for random gaze, 
 
 A lily bends upon its stalk, 
 
 And wears a shroud through all its days. 
 
 It well might be some holy nun, 
 Dead long ago, though living still, 
 
 Hidden and pale, bereft of sun. 
 And finding life a load of ill. 
 
 59 
 
REMORSE. 
 
 I SAW you once and in that hour 
 I wrote a song to last a day, 
 
 Which said your body seemed a flower, 
 Your soul its fragrance seemed alway. 
 
 You thought me bold ; and now I sigh 
 Because the sorry rhyme I rue ; 
 
 Alas ! a thoughtless wretch was I 
 AVho dared compare a flower to you / 
 
 60 
 
SPHINX FOUNTAIN. 
 
 Long had I sought in crowded cities 
 
 And many a lonely spot 
 The King of Calm who soothes and pities, 
 
 But found him not. 
 
 Till yesterday I reached this valley 
 
 In a dim fragrant wood, 
 Whither the winds soft-singing rally 
 
 With tones subdued, 
 
 Rally around a fountain yonder 
 
 In image of a Sphinx ; 
 Who would have peace with secret wonder 
 
 Stoops down and drinks ! 
 
 The Sphinx seems heedless of the singing ; 
 
 The water bubbles up ; 
 Between its paws is chained and swinging 
 
 A skull for a cup. 
 
 6i 
 
VISITATION. 
 
 I THOUGHT that I had covered you 
 With snows and roses of the years, 
 
 That you were dead and never knew 
 My face again or felt my tears. 
 
 You saw me not, nor felt my tears, 
 For you were dead and never knew 
 
 How snows and roses of the years 
 Had come in drifts to bury you. 
 
 But from the grave where you have lain, 
 As from the earth some early flower. 
 
 You have arisen, my love, again 
 
 To pour forth fragrance hour by hour. 
 
 A sad sweet presence hour by hour — 
 It is my love has risen again, 
 
 As bursts in spring some early flower 
 The wintry grave where it has lain. 
 
 62 
 
THE QUEST. 
 
 '* Where is my body ? I cannot find it ! 
 
 I have been seeking the wide world over. 
 O who could hide it, O who could bind it, 
 
 From me a roamer, a lonely rover ? 
 Where is my body ? I cannot find it ! " 
 
 When from the earth-life her soul was parted, 
 It stood in silence and woe and wonder, 
 
 And now her spirit seeks broken-hearted 
 Her body lying the green earth under — 
 
 For from her body her soul is parted. 
 
 63 
 
OFF CRETE. 
 
 Softly the perfume-giving gales 
 
 Blow from the Cyclades ; 
 They fan the cheeks, they swell the sails, 
 
 They stir the seas. 
 
 Above the lovely olive lands 
 
 And waters blue below, 
 Far up in cloudland Ida stands 
 
 White with white snow. 
 
 64 
 
WINTER. 
 
 Now round the rivulet's castle walls 
 Resound no more the summer's praises, 
 
 But scarce heard through its frozen halls 
 A melody runs in secret places : 
 
 For though the wood lies deep with snow 
 Which veils from us the mosses' slumbers, 
 
 The stream with soft, unceasing flow 
 Goes gliding down in golden numbers. 
 
 What language speaks the beauteous stream, 
 With murmurs under its green apsis, 
 
 Unconscious voicings of its dream, 
 And music of its gentle lapses ? 
 
 Is this but gravity which sings ? 
 
 Or blithe joy in a sense of being. 
 Or knowledge of more wondrous things. 
 
 And miracles beyond our seeing? 
 
 65 
 
A BALLAD OF WAR-TIME. 
 
 At night upon a lonely road 
 
 A traveller hurries fast, 
 And who has known his drear abode 
 
 Will look at him aghast ! 
 
 He comes from distant foreign lands, 
 And something strange he bears ; 
 
 He holds his own head in his hands, 
 And wofully it stares. 
 
 A soldier is he, and was slain 
 
 By some keen scimetar, 
 And long, long years his form has lain 
 
 By high-walled Temesvar. 
 
 Each night his home to find he tries, 
 
 Beside the Elbe wave — 
 In vain ! when dawn is come he lies 
 
 In this same cursed grave. 
 66 
 
IN THE SHADE OF YGDRASIL. 6/ 
 
 Ah, piteous fate, that he who shed 
 
 For love his patriot blood, 
 Restless and longing, even dead, 
 
 Must lie in hated sod ! 
 
 At night upon a lonely road 
 
 A traveller hurries fast, 
 And who has known his drear abode 
 
 Will look at him aghast ! 
 
TO LITTLE ROSALIE. 
 
 If you were in my garden, maiden, 
 
 The flowers would say : 
 " This truly is our little sister 
 
 Of yesterday, 
 The one we thought the angels laid in 
 
 Her dreams away — 
 How sweeter, dearer since we missed her ! 
 
 The flowers would say. 
 
 They would your tiny form so treasure, 
 
 You could not go, 
 Your wee, wee feet and hanging tresses 
 
 Entangle so, 
 That you would lie amidst their pressure 
 
 And sheen and glow 
 And sweet breath and old-time caresses. 
 
 And could not go. 
 68 
 
IN THE SHADE OF YGDRASIL. 69 
 
 The trees would look down glad and smiling 
 
 Upon you too ; 
 The rose-buds would burst quick asunder 
 
 To look at you, 
 The skies find such blue eyes beguiling 
 
 As lovers do, 
 And brown bees haunt your mouth in wonder. 
 
 But fear of you. 
 
THE WRAITH AND THE ROSES. 
 
 I KNOW a hundred roses 
 By their low dreamy names, 
 
 And where the wide green close is, 
 They rise as rosy flames. 
 
 Upon the moonlit hour 
 When my beloved returns, 
 
 The flame in every flower 
 Leaps up and livelier burns. 
 
 They wait for her returning, 
 
 For the wraith that wanders round ; 
 And keep their bale-fires burning 
 
 Along the glowing ground. 
 
 70 
 
THE PYTHONESS. 
 
 Has none thy grace and beauty sung, 
 
 Nor given thee caresses ? 
 Has no one wish to dwell among 
 
 Thy far off wildernesses ? 
 
 Yet thou art delicate and fair, 
 
 O fair thou art and slender ! 
 Canst thou not charm into thy lair. 
 
 Nor trust nor love engender ? 
 
 How bright and strange and strong thine eyes. 
 
 Deceiving and disarming ! 
 'T is good that most of us are wise 
 
 Beyond thy might of harming ! 
 
 71 
 
'11 1 1: roi'VM. 
 
 A I. AS ! (how s:i(l ;i word ahts is ! ) 
 I would ;i}^ain 1 were thai room in, 
 So dear hccaiisc of one dear woman 
 
 Whom Memory meets but never passes, 
 'I'hc- < Iiand)cr her great eyes illumine — 
 
 Alas ! How sad a word alas is ! 
 
 She was a I'ocm, a sweet thing created 
 Hy (lod or some undrcamcd-of forces, 
 Planned ere the suns began their courses^ 
 
 And in long ages after fated 
 
 To seek again her secret sources — 
 
 A gentle Poem, some sweet thing created. 
 
 How very sad my soul, alas, is, 
 To be again the splenditl room in, 
 Which those two torches do illumine, 
 
 Where Memory halts and never passes, 
 Because of love of one dear woman, 
 
 but kneels remote in shadowy masses ! 
 
 73 
 
TO AN OUTCAST. 
 
 In storm and strife, 
 Amid the city's vicious haunts you grew 
 
 Through all your life 
 Ancestral ghosts made sport of you. 
 
 They scoffed, they spurned, 
 They led where you must stumbling fall ; 
 
 Where'er you turned. 
 Fate reared its massive, frowning wall. 
 
 73 
 
LENAU. 
 
 You loved the mountain solitude, 
 The song of birds, the fragrant air ; 
 
 And in the silence of the wood 
 You felt that God spoke there. 
 
 You sang of these in songs so glad 
 And holy, that they reached the stars. 
 
 Why were you cursed and thus made mad, 
 Hemmed in by walls and bars ? 
 
 74 
 
THE MUMMY. 
 
 I LAID her memory away 
 
 With one sweet rose that she had given, 
 Here in a secret drawer one day — 
 
 No record has that day in Heaven. 
 
 And many soulless years have died 
 Ere happy chance again reveals it, 
 
 All bandaged, rolled and swathed and tied 
 In one long ribbon which conceals it. 
 
 Unrolled, but fragrant dust I stir. 
 
 Yet she is there as love once showed 'her- 
 
 For the dead rose in its sepulchre 
 Embalmed the maiden with its odor. 
 
 75 
 
TO LILI. 
 
 Deep in a lonely valley hangs 
 
 A flower so sweet, a flower so pale, 
 
 O it were balm for many pangs, 
 Could loveliness alone avail ! 
 
 Its perfumes glide forth on the air 
 
 And fill the wood impalpably ; 
 In sooth, dear maid, the flower seems there 
 
 Not thou — but Earth's late dream of thee I 
 
HIDE AND SEEK. 
 
 Though loitering far, I hear the shout 
 Of happy children in their play ; 
 
 Some hide and others seek them out — 
 How sweet it were to be as they ! 
 
 Ah ! merrily their voices come 
 
 Across the churchyard green to me, 
 
 And mingle with the distant hum 
 
 Of wandering wind and bird and bee. 
 
 Play, little ones, and run and shout 
 
 Among the purple heather blooms ! 
 If some day cares should be about. 
 Or old wan Sorrow seek you out — 
 Then run and hide among the tombs ! 
 
 77 
 
MOONRISE. 
 
 At first a luminous red rim 
 
 Rose from the sea behind a sail, 
 
 And made it loom up strange and dim, 
 A spectre with a gleaming trail. 
 
 Then through a cloud all torn in strips 
 By winds that wailed above the scars, 
 
 Straight through the masts of anchored ships, 
 The full moon thrust long golden bars"! 
 
 78 
 
THE PHANTOMS IN MY DREAMS RESEMBLE. 
 
 The phantoms in my dreams resemble 
 
 The soul of thee ; 
 They tremble as thy soul did tremble 
 
 From love of me ; 
 I fain would clasp them in their tremor 
 
 As I clasped thee, 
 But frightened fly they from the dreamer, 
 
 Like sounds made free ; 
 Like those sweet sounds the winds are shaking 
 
 From flower and tree. 
 Which sigh and murmur in awaking 
 
 Melodiously. 
 Ah, thou dear God, if thou hast power, 
 
 If God thou be. 
 Restore, restore one gentle hour 
 
 With her to me ! 
 
 79 
 
SAY NOT GOOD-BYE. 
 
 Say not good-bye, for we shall meet again, 
 
 Perhaps it may be soon — 
 Somewhere on earth, in sunshine or in rain, 
 
 Beneath the sun or moon. 
 
 And if not there, then in some other sphere — 
 
 Perhaps it may be soon — 
 In some rose-garden where the flowery year 
 
 Keeps always in its June. 
 
 Somewhere, somehow, some day — to guess were vain- 
 Some night or dawn or noon. 
 
 Say not good-bye, for we shall meet again — 
 Perhaps it may be soon. 
 
 80 
 
A HEALTH. 
 
 A STRANGE Knight with his visor drawn, 
 With gleaming eye and glancing spear, 
 Sought entrance at the gate at dawn ; 
 His princely voice and air austere 
 Bespoke both Knight and steed good cheer- 
 But ere the eve the guest was gone. 
 
 Aye, ere the eve came red and brown 
 Up from the ocean with the breeze, 
 
 The stranger left the coast and town, 
 But with the fairest maid of these, 
 To cross the gray November seas, 
 
 And bind her to his foreign crown. 
 
 Deep, deep this bitter cup I drain 
 
 In honor of her gentle eyes, 
 Her tender mouth that showed no pain, 
 
 Her hair blown under alien skies ; 
 
 Of her become the plunderer's prize, 
 Of her I shall not see again ! 
 
 6 
 
 8i 
 
TO A MODERN LILITH. 
 
 Behind your .bosom hidden 
 Is what you call your heart, 
 
 Which sometimes leaps unbidden 
 And makes its owner start. 
 
 But quiet it, I pray you. 
 Lest the coiled secret thing 
 
 Should rise up and betray you 
 To someone with its sting ! 
 
A WISH. 
 
 I FAIN would be a troubadour 
 (If one poor wish be not a sin) 
 
 With voice to charm and song to lure, 
 And some melodious mandolin. 
 
 Then I would sing a song so sweet, 
 
 So strange and low and strong and brave, 
 
 That it should pierce beneath my feet 
 And thrill you in your quiet grave ! 
 
 83 
 
STEADFASTNESS. 
 
 I DO not care what change may come to you 
 With the slow passing of your gentle days ; 
 
 Whether the years molest you and undo 
 
 That outward loveliness, those graceful ways. 
 
 No matter if your face and form be marred 
 
 By the vicissitudes of time and dole ; 
 These cannot change the treasures which they guard- 
 
 The noble heart, high mind, and generous soul. 
 
 84 
 
FROM THE PRISON WINDOWS. 
 
 My soul beholds a lonely lake, 
 Around whose sounding shore 
 
 A maiden plays upon a lyre 
 A melody known no more. 
 
 I ask my gaoler if he hears 
 Her lyre beneath the stars ; 
 
 He says it is the wind that beats 
 Upon my prison bars. 
 
 85 
 
THE LONELY HOUSE. 
 
 Sweet friend she was to one and all, 
 More than sweet friend to me. 
 
 I sought her door at evenfall 
 Just home from oversea. 
 
 But at her threshold lay the snow 
 In drifts that showed no mark ; 
 
 The house stood like a thing of woe, 
 Empty, deserted, dark. 
 
 86 
 
NATURE AND MAN. 
 
 The face of Nature does but rarely change. 
 
 Age after age on everlasting sands 
 Sing the lone seas their solemn dirge and strange ; 
 
 The rivers run down through the furrowed lands 
 Held steadfast by the mountains, range on range ; 
 
 The summer flowers succeed the winter snows, 
 Sunshine the storm, and starry night the day. 
 
 Ever returning with the self-same shows 
 Insensate matter holds eternal sway. 
 
 But conscious soul lives one short hour and goes ! 
 
 87 
 
THE UNKNOWN MUSIC. 
 
 'T IS said in dying one can often hear, 
 
 Ere the soul goes, 
 Faint melodies that ever come more near, 
 
 But no one knows. 
 
 A murmuring, soothing, lulling, lingering sound, 
 
 A holy song, 
 From the far worlds that we have never found, 
 
 Though seeking long. 
 
 Just as the perfume fills a lonely flower 
 
 In the wood's shade, 
 Ethereal harmonies at the parting hour 
 
 The soul pervade. 
 
 It may be echoes of the angels' speech — 
 
 But no one knows — 
 A far sweet music out of mortal reach, 
 
 Till the soul goes. 
 
THE OASIS. 
 
 I CAME from desert solitudes, vast, dreary, 
 Mouth parched, and with the glare 
 
 Of long gray gleaming levels, eyes grown weary, 
 And found sweet solace there. — 
 
 A patch of pleasant green, a shady cover, 
 
 A spring, a palm-tree tall ; 
 And bougainvilleas splashed their crimson over 
 
 A line of yellow wall. 
 
 89 
 
MIGRATION. 
 
 Death soon grows busy with the leaves and grass and 
 flowers ; 
 He brings white cohorts from his frozen Northern 
 caves, 
 Which shall besiege them in their happy summer bowers, 
 And wound and slay and lay them in their whitening 
 graves. 
 
 'T is well ye leave the dreary Northern clime and shun 
 To meet the icy blasts and snows by winter hurled, 
 
 Wise birds, that yearly follow the warm, pleasant sun 
 And the green summer, down the sides of the world ! 
 
 90 
 
SLUMBER SONG. 
 
 Sing a sweet song, 
 
 Tender and low and long, 
 Until my sorrows deep 
 
 Drowned in the sea of sleep 
 Never can come again 
 
 With ache or pain. 
 
 Over on yonder hill, 
 
 Hear the lone whip-poor-will 
 Singing in dreams a song — 
 
 Tender and low and long. 
 Over and over again 
 
 That far sweet strain. 
 
 Listen ! and then sing slow 
 While my heart to and fro 
 
 Sways into slumber long 
 With the low solemn song. 
 
 Never to wake again 
 To ache or pain. 
 
 91 
 
TO COUNT CARL VON SNOILSKY. 
 
 Rare verse is thine wherein we hear 
 The songs of beauty, truth, and art, 
 
 And sounding low and deep and clear 
 The throbbing of the human heart. 
 
 Rare man, in whom harmoniously 
 Great thoughts and fancies blend, 
 
 Thou art thyself a melody 
 Whose music cannot end. 
 
 92 
 
WHERE 'ER YOU GO. 
 
 Where'er you go, through sun or shadows, 
 Up rocky steeps, or down long hollows. 
 
 Across broad moors or flowery meadows, 
 Where'er you go, my heart still follows. 
 
 To be with you in grief and danger. 
 Swifter than is the flight of swallows. 
 
 Through Death's domains and regions stranger, 
 Where'er you go, my heart still follows. 
 
 93 
 
AN IDLE SPARROW'S SONG. 
 
 I AM no travelling tyro 
 Nor common stay-at-home, 
 
 But have a house in Cairo 
 Beyond the midland foam. 
 
 'T is in the Sook-Attareen, 
 
 Where all is life and stir, 
 Where merchants strange and foreign 
 
 Sell sandal, musk, and myrrh. 
 
 As long as winter tarries 
 
 I stay — then seek anew, 
 Up via Rome and Paris, 
 
 My house-boat moored at Kew. 
 
 94 
 
HER SOUL AND BODY. 
 
 The wine was in the golden beaker ; 
 
 Its red foam frothed and bubbled up ; 
 For some fine spirit I was seeker ; 
 
 I found one in that shining cup. 
 
 I longed to breathe the sweets it scattered, 
 To breathe, to taste, did Fate permit, - 
 
 But from my lips the cup fell shattered ; 
 Then fell and broke my heart with it. 
 
 95 
 
A WOOD-THOUGHT. 
 
 The very stillness weighs upon the ear, 
 The very loneliness o'ercrowds the mind, 
 As if a thousand shadowy, undefined, 
 
 Portentous mysteries were thronging here. 
 
 One feels a Presence it were vain to seek, 
 
 Full of all secrets since the world was young ; 
 And prophecies that tremble on its tongue, 
 
 But are unspoken, for it cannot speak. 
 
 96 
 
REINCARNATION. 
 
 One of your ancestry was likewise fair 
 
 As some soft spring-flower hidden in the snow ; 
 
 Like yours her eyes were, and her mouth, her hair — 
 It is not strange that she was loth to go ! 
 
 She would not go ; more strong her spirit grew, 
 Till she might enter your sweet soul's domain. 
 
 And work her will there as if she were you. 
 
 And smile and charm and bless the world again ! 
 
 97 
 
SUNSET. 
 
 Leaf after leaf unfolding slowly, 
 
 The sunset blossoms in red and gold, 
 
 Tremulous, solemn, peaceful, holy. 
 Petal by petal and fold on fold. 
 
 First the pink bud and then the flower, 
 
 Leaf after leaf and fold on fold. 
 Expanding and blending to bloom in an hour 
 
 With rose-colored petals and heart of gold. 
 
 But soon the flower is rent and riven. 
 
 The great gold heart droops lower and lower ; 
 
 The petals are scattered in drifts and driven 
 Into the night to be seen no more. 
 
RESIGNATION. 
 
 All things change and go 
 
 Like the wind and the dew, 
 Staying a moment so, 
 
 Then hastening anew — 
 All things change and go ; 
 
 Why should not you ? 
 They fade, they fly, they flow ; 
 
 Now life goes too. 
 
 Now happy life goes too, 
 
 Out into nothingness ; 
 Unseen it passes through 
 
 The portals of distress. 
 Now happy life goes too — 
 
 Resignedly ? Yes. 
 Wherefore regret or rue 
 
 What could not bless ? 
 
 99 
 
IN A DAHABIAH. 
 
 A DESERT lies on either hand 
 
 In stern and lone repose ; 
 Between the wastes of yellow sand 
 
 The dark Nile flows. 
 
 All through the valley strait and green 
 
 Are wafted faint perfumes 
 From fields of clover and sweet-bean 
 
 And lentil-blooms. 
 
 Palm groves and minarets and towers, 
 Like dreams before the eye, 
 
 Pass slowly as through drowsy hours 
 Our boat drifts by. 
 
 The dark-robed women file in troops 
 To fill their water jars, 
 
 lOO 
 
IN THE SHADE OF YGDRASIL. lOI 
 
 Where wind-bound boats lie moored in groups 
 With idle spars. 
 
 All day a strident monotone 
 
 Along the shore line steals — 
 The noise of wells, the creak and groan 
 
 Of water-wheels. 
 
 Out on the river softly floats 
 
 The boatmen's wailing song, 
 Where up and down the swan-winged boats 
 
 Glide all day long. 
 
 Soon sharp against the reddening sky, 
 
 By sunset canopied. 
 Looms up remote and shadowy 
 
 A pyramid. 
 
 Strange sounds by curious wading-birds 
 
 Are heard along the bars. 
 When night brings forth too fair for words 
 
 Her moon and stars. 
 
102 IN THE SHADE OF YGDRASIL, 
 
 Then lo, a ghost ! — Seneferoo 
 Comes from his giant tomb 
 
 To guard his Egypt all night through 
 On huge Maydoom ! 
 
RESURRECTION. 
 
 In their sweet graves the violets repine, 
 Among the roots of the old sycamore. 
 
 When will the snow go and the spring sun shine, 
 And there be knocking at their tomb's low door ? 
 
 Ah, when the gentle angel of the rain 
 
 Shall sound soft summons on each sepulchre. 
 
 They will burst straightway from their graves again 
 Into God's presence and then scarcely stir ! 
 
 103 
 
STARLIGHT AND BULBUL. 
 
 Sweetheart so sweet, there is no word 
 Can quite portray you as you are, 
 
 No form of speech — just song of bird 
 And tender light of summer star. 
 
 I would that I were very wise. 
 
 That I might tell you what they say 
 
 From lonely wood and tranquil skies — 
 The star by night, the bird by day. 
 
 104 
 
THE DREAM-CHILD. 
 
 How, having held her perfect face 
 
 Between my hands and kissed her mouth, 
 
 How could I lose her into space 
 
 Somewhere East, West, or North, or South ? 
 
 Now sometimes in the crowded street, 
 
 Above the tumult of the throng, 
 I see, I hear, afar and sweet, 
 
 A phantom face, a haunting song. 
 
 Once when the sea was very gray, 
 
 All gray with mist and gray with rain, 
 
 I saw her flash and fade away 
 In foamy wastes of waves again. 
 
 And once in desert lands, I sought 
 For peace that has its dwelling there. 
 
 When lo ! some strange mirage had wrought 
 Her face upon the empty air ! 
 
 105 
 
WITH SOME LILIES-OF-THE-VALLEY. 
 
 This morn awaking in affright, 
 
 They saw the snow instead of May, 
 
 Around — the wide land clothed in white ; 
 Above — the skies all strange and gray. 
 
 And here they are upon their stem ; 
 
 I bring the poor pale things to you 
 Who will be summer unto them — 
 
 Summer and sun and wind and dew ! 
 
 I06 
 
FOR A DEAD COMEDIAN. 
 
 Play no sad air upon the chalumeau, 
 No mournful melody upon the lute, 
 
 But rather let the meniest music flow 
 
 Up through the chamber where he lieth mute — 
 Perhaps he listeneth ! 
 
 Come then with song and dance and joyful tune ! 
 
 Bring in the cymbals and the stirring fife, 
 The hautboy and the comical bassoon — 
 
 For he who roused up laughter all his life 
 Should make a jest of Death 1 
 
 107 
 
FATE. 
 
 " What must be must be " — say it over and over, 
 Until you see and feel its meaning clear, 
 
 Till griefs and sorrows that around you hover 
 Shall bring no more a tear. 
 
 Through all the day repeat it over and over, 
 In night and silence, on the land and sea ; 
 
 Perhaps it will requite you, O world-rover — 
 It is philosophy ! 
 
 Thus bitter balsam does the soul discover 
 
 For life and death and every pain and smart — 
 
 A hopeless solace for each mourning lover — 
 A balm to ease the heart. 
 
 1 08 
 
THE LOST ARGOSIES. 
 
 I 'vE looked in vain and long for them, 
 My red-sailed galleys and triremes 
 
 That sailed a sea too strong for them 
 'Mid windy paths and ocean streams, 
 
 And now I make a song for them — 
 
 My far-tossed wrecks of dreams. 
 
 They sailed and dear shapes went with them 
 Swaying along their rosy wales, 
 
 And comely rowers sent with them ^ 
 Made songs that echoed on their trails ; 
 
 Sang melodies, and blent with them 
 
 Were sounds of oars and sails. 
 
 An island — sirens sing of it — 
 
 They sought with sail and helping oar. 
 109 
 
no IN THE SHADE OF YGDRASIL. 
 
 No token yet they bring of it, 
 
 Nor of the careless friends they bore, 
 Though I am lawful King of it — 
 The Isle of Nevermore. 
 
 I 've looked in vain and long for them, 
 My red-sailed galleys and triremes, 
 
 That braved a sea too strong for them 
 'Mid windy paths and ocean streams, 
 
 And now I make a song for them — 
 
 My far-tossed wrecks of dreams. 
 
HYPNOTISM. 
 
 Come nearer, let me see your face, 
 
 For just a moment's space ; 
 Bend close with those clear tranquil eyes, 
 
 Mysterious, wonder-wise. 
 
 Then let your words of magic art 
 
 Like music seek my heart — 
 *' Sleep long — sleep well, whate'er befall, 
 
 Until you hear me call ! " — 
 
 Then shall sweet visions take control 
 
 Of my blest, happy soul ; 
 And what if thus — unmoved by fears — 
 
 I sleep a hundred years ! 
 
 What matter if they bury me 
 Deep down in earth or sea ! — 
 
 I must awaken and rejoice 
 When next I hear your voice. 
 
HOPES. 
 
 'T IS when the spirit is most sorely pressed 
 By the long weariness of lonely hours, 
 
 New hopes spring up and blossom in the breast, 
 Like to a rosebush with a thousand flowers. 
 
 They bud, they blossom, then their petals fall 
 In downy drifts blown to and fro by sighs — 
 
 Disturb them not, for ah, beneath them all 
 Perhaps the heart now deeply buried lies ! 
 
NO MORE. 
 
 A SHADOW creepeth through the door 
 
 With dread to all who hear it, 
 So softly through the open door, 
 
 With loitering step along the floor, 
 A shadow with the name No More^ 
 
 A dim and haunting spirit. 
 
 It stirreth in the lonely air 
 
 That breatheth in the hallway ; 
 It rustleth up and down the stair, 
 
 And round the cradle and the chair, 
 All through the rooms so darkly bare 
 
 It sigheth, sigheth alway. 
 
 It lingereth like a faint perfume 
 
 In each uncertain corner ; 
 It stayeth as a still perfume 
 
 Upon the air in every room — 
 '■'■ No more — no more — no more " — the doom 
 
 It murmureth to the mourner ! 
 
 113 
 
WIND-MUSIC. 
 
 O WIND, the wintry prairie grass 
 Sighs and sobs unceasingly, 
 
 Rustles and crackles as you pass — 
 A wide brown melancholy sea ! 
 
 Sometimes from out the Northern firs 
 Your threnody majestic flows, 
 
 And deep the mighty forest stirs 
 To sing its centuries of woes. 
 
 Or some South garden's loveliness 
 Lures you^ when violet dusk begins, 
 
 To murmur through the fragrances 
 Of roses and of mandarins. 
 
 And always on the ocean shore 
 In a paean wild or requiem long, 
 114 
 
IN THE SHADE OF YGDRASIL, II5 
 
 A wailing dirge for evermore, 
 One hears your everlasting song. 
 
 But what strange joy, what keen delight, 
 Are yours, O waif of many lands, 
 
 When secretly you find by night 
 
 A wind-harp strung by human hands ! 
 
DO NOT GROW OLD. 
 
 Do not grow old, there is too much to lose ; 
 
 The world has need of all these precious things — 
 This fresh young face, these eyes like woodland springs, 
 
 This shadowy hair which every zephyr woos, 
 
 These subtle graces, all these lovely hues, 
 
 This voice like echoes from melodious strings. 
 
 Do not grow old, there is too much to lose ; 
 
 The world has need of all these precious things. 
 
 Let us not think of blight and frosty dews 
 Such as to flowers the harsher season brings. 
 But through your body, by sweet chastenings, 
 Let heart and soul perennial youth diffuse : 
 Do not grow old, there is too much to lose. 
 
 ii6 
 
TWO VIOLETS SHINING IN THE DEW. 
 
 Two violets shining in the dew 
 Look up like eyes at me — I start, 
 
 A keen swift memory of you 
 Cuts straight into my heart ! 
 
 For with my soul's eyes I can trace 
 A shape that will not let me stir, 
 
 With fold on fold of filmy lace 
 And shadowy silk and minever. 
 
 I see them from a mist of tears ! 
 
 Your eyes so tranquil, soft, and blue 
 Peer through the mould of many years — 
 
 Two violets shining in the dew. 
 
 "7 
 
THE CHURCH OF ST. JACQUES. 
 
 There is a hush of peace within, 
 And in the holy silence there, 
 
 A priest says mass for souls of sin ; 
 And two lone figures kneel in prayer 
 Close to the chancel-step. 
 
 Outside a ribald throng, a crowd, 
 Is loitering round the sacred walls; 
 
 They gamble, dance, sing, bawl aloud, 
 In tents and booths and market-stalls- 
 'T is Sunday in Dieppe ! 
 
 ii8 
 
RONDEL. 
 
 A LITTLE love a little while, 
 
 And then we part to meet no more ; 
 
 For never can old Time restore 
 One little sigh, one little smile. 
 
 Before us shall the years defile 
 A woful line, a phantom corps ; 
 
 A little love a little while, 
 
 And then we part to meet no more. 
 
 Yet ere we come to reconcile 
 Ourselves to destiny — before 
 We gaze alone from either shore 
 
 At the waste waters mile on mile — 
 
 A little love a little while. 
 
 119 
 
A SONG OF YESTERDAY. 
 
 Come, sweet, and sing these songs again ; 
 
 They made a murmur in my heart. 
 An echoing sense of loss or pain, 
 An immemorial soft refrain, 
 
 So sweet they were, so sweet thou art ! 
 
 And if upon the morning road 
 
 I falter weary, lone, and pale, 
 Some sudden echo lifts the load. 
 Some strain of yesternight, when flowed 
 The music of the nightingale. 
 
EAST AND WEST. 
 
 Shut in with books and pipe and crackling fire, 
 
 Hafiz, I roam with you 
 A gorgeous garden to my heart's desire ! 
 The bulbul sings as though it might expire 
 
 In balsam, moonlight, dew. 
 
 Outside my window-square, the black clouds lower ; 
 
 Hear the wind howl and blow ! 
 The shutter creaks ; the great trees quiver and cower. 
 And round yon huge and lonely lantern-tower 
 
 Wild sweeps the wintry snow ! 
 
 121 
 
REMINISCENCE OF TATOI. 
 
 Sometimes the heart must feed on memories, 
 To stay its longings and assuage its pain ; 
 Old scenes, old songs, old faces come again, 
 Else might it perish where no Beauty is. 
 For life has need of Beauty's ministries. 
 
 Thus at this moment all my cares are gone ; 
 
 The hot streets vanish with their wild uproar ; 
 
 I smell the pine-woods and the flowers once more. 
 And see the sun shine softly down upon 
 Blue Salamis and gray Pentelikon. 
 
 122 
 
WITH A BOOK OF VERSES. 
 
 I WOULD that some one verse of mine 
 
 Might hold enough of you 
 To keep it fresh and fair and fine 
 A year or two — 
 
 A year or two beyond our death — 
 
 Surely that were not long 
 To have your spirit like a breath 
 Pervade my song. 
 
 So when one came to turn the leaf 
 
 Whereon it printed lies, 
 A perfume keen and sweet and brief 
 Might chance to rise, 
 
 As if your lingering soul forsook 
 Some far world here to stay, 
 As if close shut within the book 
 A crushed rose lay. 
 
 123 
 
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