% ublishers. [105] O'erhanging; and, unmindful of his prey, The leopard steals with narrowed lids to lay His spotted length along the ground. The thin airs wash, the thin clouds wander by, And those hushed listeners move not. All the morn He pipes, soft-swaying, and with haK-shut eye. In rapt content of utterance, — nor heeds The young God standing in his branchy place, The languor on his Hps, and in his face, Divinely inaccessible, the scorn. [106] CHRISTINA ROSSETTI REMEMBER Remember me when I am gone away, Gone far away into the silent land; When you can no more hold me by the hand, Nor I half turn to go, yet turning stay. Remember me when no more day by day You tell me of our future that you planned; Only remember me; you understand It will be late to counsel then or pray. Yet if you should forget me for a while And afterwards remember, do not grieve : For if the darkness and corruption leave A vestige of the thoughts that once I had, Better by far you should forget and smile Than that you should remember and be sad. By pei-mission of the Macmillan Co. / [107] DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI THE BLESSED DAMOZEL The blessed damozel leaned out From the gold bar of Heaven; Her eyes were deeper than the depth Of waters stilled at even; She had three lilies in her hand, And the stars in her hair were seven. Her robe, ungirt from clasp to hem. No wrought flowers did adorn, But a white rose of Mary's gift. For service meetly worn; Her hair that lay along her back Was yellow like ripe com. Herseemed she scarce had been a day One of God's choristers; The wonder was not yet quite gone From that still look of hers; Albeit, to them she left, her day Had counted as ten years. (To one, it is ten years of years. . . . Yet now, and in this place, Surely she leaned o'er me — her hair Fell all about my face . . • . [ 108] Nothing: the autumn-fall of leaves. The whole year sets apace.) It was the rampart of God's house That she was standing on; By God bunt over the sheer depth The which is Space begun; So high, that looking downward thence She scarce could see the sun. It lies in Heaven, across the flood Of ether, as a bridge. Beneath, the tides of day and night With flame and darkness ridge The void, as low as where this earth Spins like a fretful midge. Around her, lovers, newly met 'Mid deathless love's acclaims, Spoke evermore among themselves Their heart-remembered names; And the souls mounting up to God Went by her Uke thin flames. And still she bowed herself and stooped Out of the circling charm; Until her bosom must have made The bar she leaned on warm, And the lilies lay as if asleep Along her bended arm. [ 109 ] From the fixed place of Heaven she saw Time Hke a pulse shake fierce Through all the worlds. Her gaze still strove Within the gulf to pierce Its path; and now she spoke as when The stars sang in their spheres. The sun was gone now; the curled moon Was like a little feather Fluttering far down the gulf; and now She spoke through the still weather. Her voice was like the voice the stars Had when they sang together. (Ah sweet! Even now, in that bird's song, Strove not her accents there, Fain to be hearkened? When those bells Possessed the mid-day air, Strove not her steps to reach my side Down all the echoing stair?) " I wish that he were come to me, For he will come," she said. " Have I not prayed in Heaven? — on earth. Lord, Lord, has he not pray'd? Are not two prayers a perfect strength? And shall I feel afraid? " When round his head the aureole clings, And he is clothed in white, [110] I '11 take his hand and go with him To the deep wells of light; As unto a stream we will step down, And bathe there in God's sight. " We two will stand beside that shrine, Occult, withheld, untrod. Whose lamps are stirred continually With prayer sent up to God; And see our old prayers, granted, melt Each like a little cloud. " We two will lie i' the shadow of That living mystic tree Within whose secret growth the Dove Is sometimes felt to be. While every leaf that His plumes touch Saith His Name audibly. "And I myself will teach to him, I myself, lying so, The songs I sing here; which his voice Shall pause in, hushed and slow. And find some knowledge at each pause, Or some new thing to know." (Alas! we two, we two, thou say'st! Yea, one wast thou with me That once of old. But shall God lift To endless unity [Ill ] The soul whose likeness with thy soul Was but its love for thee? ) "We two," she said, "will seek the groves Where the lady Mary is, With her five handmaidens, whose names Are five sweet symphonies, Cecily, Gertrude, Magdalen, Margaret and Rosalys. "Circlewise sit they, with bound locks And foreheads garlanded; Into the fine cloth white Hke flame Weaving the golden thread. To fashion the birth-robes for them Who are just born, being dead. "He shall fear, haply, and be dumb: Then will I lay my cheek To his, and tell about our love, Not once abashed or weak: And the dear Mother will approve My pride, and let me speak. "Herself shall bring us, hand in hand, To Him round whom all souls Kneel, the clear-ranged unnumbered heads Bowed with their aureoles: And angels meeting us shall sing To their citherns and citoles. [112] "There will I ask of Christ the Lord Thus much for him and me : — Only to live as once on earth With Love, — only to be, As then awhile, for ever now Together, I and he." She gazed and listened and then said, Less sad of speech than mild, — "All this is when he comes." She ceased. The light thrilled towards her, fill'd With angels in strong level flight. Her eyes prayed, and she smil'd. (I saw her smile.) But soon their path Was vague in distant spheres : And then she cast her arms along The golden barriers. And laid her face between her hands. And wept. (I heard her tears.) A MATCH WITH THE MOON Weary already, weary miles to-night I walked for bed: and so, to get some ease, I dogged the flying moon with similes. And like a wisp she doubled on my sight In ponds; and caught in tree-tops like a kite; And in a globe of film all liquorish Swam full-faced like a silly silver fish; — [ 113] Last like a bubble shot the welkm's height Where my road turned, and got behind me, and sent My wizened shadow craning round at me, And jeered, "So, step the measure, — one two three!" And if I faced on her looked innocent. But just at parting, halfway down a dell, She kissed me for good-night. So you '11 not tell. BODY'S BEAUTY Of Adam's first wife, Lilith, it is told (The witch he loved before the gift of Eve,) That, ere the snake's, her sweet tongue could deceive, And her enchanted hair was the first gold. And still she sits, j'^oung while the earth is old. And, subtly of herself contemplative, Draws men to watch the bright web she can weave Till heart and body and life are in its hold. The rose and poppy are her flowers; for where Is he not found, O LiHth, whom shed scent And soft-shed kisses and soft sleep shall snare? Lo! as that youth's eyes burned at thine, so went Thy spell through him, and left his straight neck bent, And round his heart one strangling golden hair. BROKEN MUSIC The mother will not turn, who thinlcs she hears Her nursling's speech first grow articulate; [ 114] But breathless with averted eyes elate She sits, with open lips and open ears, That it may call her twice. 'Mid doubts and fears Thus oft my soul has hearkened; till the song, A central moan for days, at length found tongue, And the sweet music welled and the sweet tears. But now, whatever while the soul is fain To list that wonted murmur, as it were The speech-bound sea-shell's low, importunate strain. No breath of song, thy voice alone is there, O bitterly beloved! and all her gain Is but the pang of unpermitted prayer. DEATH-IN-LOVE There came an image in life's retinue That had Love's wings and bore his gonfalon: Fair was the web, and nobly wrought thereon, soul-sequestered face, thy form and hue! Bewildering sounds, such as Spring wakens to. Shook in its folds; and through my heart its power Sped trackless as the immemorable hour When birth's dark portal groaned and all was new. But a veiled woman followed, and she caught The banner round its staff, to furl and cling, — Then plucked a feather from the bearer's wing And held it to his Hps that stirred it not, And said to me, "Behold, there is no breath: 1 and this Love are one, and I am Death." [ 115] HEART'S HAVEN Sometimes she is a child Tvithin mine arms, Cowering beneath dark wings that love must chase, With still tears showering and averted face, InexpHcably filled with faint alarms : And oft from mine own spirit's hurtling harms I crave the refuge of her deep embrace, — Against all ills the fortified strong place And sweet reserve of sovereign counter-charms. And Love, our light at night and shade at noon, Lulls us to rest with songs, and turns away AU shafts of shelterless tumultuous day. Like the moon's growth, his face gleams through his tune; And as soft waters warble to the moon. Our answering spirits chime one roundelay. KNOWN IN VAIN As two whose love, first foolish, widening scope, Knows suddenly, to music high and soft. The Holy of HoHes; who because they scoff 'd Are now amazed with shame, nor dare to cope With the whole truth aloud, lest heaven should ope; Yet, at their meetings, laugh not as they laugh'd In speech; nor speak, at length; but sitting oft Together, within hopeless sight of hope For hours are silent; — So it happeneth [ 116] When Work and Will awake too late, to gaze After their life sailed by, and hold their breath. Ah! who shall dare to search through what sad maze Thenceforth their incommunicable ways Follow the desultory feet of Death? ON REFUSAL OF AID BETWEEN NATIONS Not that the earth is changing, O my God! Nor that the seasons totter in their walk, — Not that the virulent ill of act and talk Seethes ever as a winepress ever trod, — Not therefore are we certain that the rod Weighs in thine hand to smite thy world; though now Beneath thine hand so many nations bow. So many kings: — not therefore, O my God! — But because Man is parcelled out in men To-day; because for any wrongful blow No man not stricken asks, " I would be told Why thou dost thus;" but his heart whispers then, "He is he, I am I." By this we know That our earth falls asunder, being old. THE LOVERS' WALK Sweet twining hedgeflowers wind-stirred in no wise On this June day; and hand that clings in hand: — Still glades; and meeting faces scarcely fann'd: — An osier-odoured stream that draws the skies [117] Deep to its heart; and mirrored eyes in eyes: — Fresh hourly wonder o'er the Summer land Of hght and cloud; and two souls softly spann'd With one o'erarching heaven of smiles and sighs: — Even such their path, whose bodies lean unto Each other's visible sweetness amorously, — Whose passionate hearts lean by Love's high decree Together on his heart forever true, As the cloud-foaming firmamental blue Rests on the blue line of a foamless sea. WILLOWWOOD I SAT with Love upon a woodside well, Leaning across the water, I and he; Nor ever did he speak nor looked at me, But touched his lute wherein was audible The certain secret thing he had to tell: Only our mirrored eyes met silently In the low wave ; and that sound came to be The passionate voice I knew; and my tears fell. And at their fall, his eyes beneath grew hers; And with his foot and with his wing-feathers He swept the spring that watered my heart's drouth. Then the dark ripples spread to waving hair, And as I stooped, her own Hps rising there Bubbled with brimming kisses at my mouth. [ 118 ] II And now Love sang: but his was such a song So meshed with half-remembrance hard to free, As souls disused in death's sterility- May sing when the new birthday tarries long. And I was made aware of a dumb throng That stood aloof, one form by every tree, All mournful forms, for each was I or she, The shades of those our days that had no tongue. They looked on us, and knew us and were known; While fast together, ahve from the abyss. Clung the soul-wrung implacable close kiss; And pity of seK through all made broken moan Which said, "For once, for once, for once alone!" And still Love sang, and what he sang was this: — III " O ye, all ye that walk in Willowwood, That walk with hollow faces burning white; What fathom-depth of soul-struck widowhood. What long, what longer hours, one lifelong night. Ere ye again, who so in vain have wooed Your last hope lost, who so in vain invite Your Hps to that their unforgotten food. Ere ye, ere ye again shall see the Hght! " Alas I the bitter banks in Willowwood, With tear-spurge wan, with blood-wort burning red; Alas! if ever such a pillow could Steep deep the soul in sleep till she were dead, — [ 119 ] Better all life forget her than this thing, That Willowwood should hold her wandering!" IV So sang he : and as meeting rose and rose Together cling through the wind's wellaway Nor change at once, yet near the end of day The leaves drop loosened where the heart-stain glows, - So when the song died did the kiss unclose; And her face fell back drowned, and was as grey As its grey eyes; and if it ever may Meet mine again I know not if Love knows. Only I know that I leaned low and drank A long draught from the water where she sank, Her breath and all her tears and all her soul: And as I leaned, I know I felt Love's face Pressed on my neck with moan of pity and grace, Till both our heads were in his aureole. YOUTH'S ANTIPHONY " I LOVE you, sweet : how can you ever learn How much I love you?" "You I love even so, And so I learn it." "Sweet, you cannot know How fair you are." " If fair enough to earn Your love, so much is all my love's concern." "My love grows hourly, sweet." " Mine too doth grow, [ 120] Yet love seemed full so many hours ago!" Thus lovers speak, till kisses claim their turn. Ah! happy they to whom such words as these In youth have served for speech the whole day long, Hour after hour, remote from the world's throng, Work, contest, fame, all life's confederate pleas, — What while Love breathed in sighs and silences Through two blent souls one rapturous undersong. [121 ] PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY A FRAGMENT: TO MUSIC Silver key of the fountain of tears, Where the spirit drinks till the brain is wild; Softest grave of a thousand fears, Where their mother, Care, like a drowsy child, Is laid asleep in flowers. LOVE'S PHILOSOPHY The fountains mingle with the river, And the rivers with the ocean; The winds of heaven mix forever. With a sweet emotion; Nothing in the world is single; All things by a law divine In one another's being mingle : — Why not I with thine? See! the mountains kiss high heaven, And the waves clasp one another; No sister flower would be forgiven If it disdained its brother; And the sunlight clasps the earth. And the moonbeams kiss the sea : — What are all these kissings worth. If thou kiss not me? [ 122] OZYMANDIAS OF EGYPT I MET a traveller from an antique land Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand, HaK sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown And wrinkled Hp and sneer of cold command Tell that its sculptor well those passions read Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things, The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed; And on the pedestal these words appear: "My name is Ozymandias, king of kings: Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair I" Nothing beside remains. Roimd the decay Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare. The lone and level sands stretch far away. THE CLOUD I BRING fresh showers for the thirsting flowers, From the seas and the streams; I bear light shade for the leaves when laid In their noonday dreams. From my wings are shaken the dews that waken The sweet birds every one. When rocked to rest on their mother's breast, As she dances about the sun. I wield the flail of the lashing hail, And whiten the green plains under; [123] And then again I dissolve it in rain, And laugh as I pass in thunder. I sift the snow on the mountains below, And their great pines groan aghast; And all the night 't is my pillow white, While I sleep in the arms of the blast. SubUme on the towers of my skyey bowers, Lightning, my pilot, sits; In a cavern under is fettered the thunder; It struggles and howls at fits. Over earth and ocean, with gentle motion, This pilot is guiding me, Lured by the love of the genii that move In the depths of the purple sea; Over the rills and the crags and the hills, Over the lakes and the plains. Wherever he dream, under mountain or stream, The spirit he loves remains; And I aU the while bask in heaven's blue smile. Whilst he is dissolving in rains. The sanguine sunrise, with his meteor eyes, And his burning plumes outspread, Leaps on the back of my sailing rack, When the morning star shines dead. As, on the jag of a mountain crag Which an earthquake rocks and swings. An eagle, aht, one moment may sit In the light of its golden wings; And when sunset may breathe, from the lit sea beneath, [124 J Its ardors of rest and love, And the crimson pall of eve may fall From the depth of heaven above, With wings folded I rest on my airy nest. As still as a brooding dove. That orbdd maiden with white fire laden Whom mortals call the moon, Glides glimmering o'er my fleece-like floor. By the midnight breezes strewn; And wherever the beat of her unseen feet, Which only the angels hear. May have broken the woof of my tent's thin roof. The stars peep behind her and peer; And I laugh to see them whirl and flee, Like a swarm of golden bees. When I widen the rent in my wind-built tent, Till the calm river, lakes, and seas, Like strips of the sky fallen through me on high. Are each paved with the moon and these. I bind the sun's throne with a burning zone. And the moon's with a girdle of pearl; The volcanoes are dim, and the stars reel and swim, When the whirlwinds my banner unfurl. From cape to cape, with a bridge-like shape, Over a torrent sea, Sunbeam proof, I hang like a roof. The mountains its columns be. The triumphal arch, through which I march With hurricane, fire and snow, [125 J When the powers of the air are chained to my chair, Is the miUion-colored bow; The sphere-fire above its soft colors wove, While the moist earth was laughing below. I am the daughter of the earth and water, And the nursling of the sky; I pass through the pores of the ocean and shores; I change, but I cannot die. For after the rain, when, with never a stain. The pavilion of heaven is bare, And the winds and sunbeams, with their convex gleams, Build up the blue dome of air, I silently laugh at my own cenotaph. And out of the caverns of rain. Like a child from the womb, hke a ghost from the tomb, I rise and upbuild it again. THRENODY When the lamp is shattered. The light in the dust Hes dead; When the cloud is scattered. The rainbow's glory is shed. When the lute is broken, Sweet tones are remembered not; When the hps have spoken. Loved accents are soon forgot. [126] As music and splendor Survive not the lamp and the lute, The heart's echoes render No song when the spirit is mute, — No song but sad dirges, Like the wind through a ruined cell, Or the mournful surges That ring the dead seaman's knell. TO THE SKYLARK Hail to thee, blithe spirit 1 Bird thou never wert. That from heaven, or near it, Pourest thy full heart In profuse strains of unpremeditated art. Higher still and higher From the earth thou springest. Like a cloud of fire; The blue deep thou wingest, And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest. In the golden Hghtning Of the setting sun, O'er which clouds are brightening, Thou dost float and run; Like an embodied joy whose race is just begun. The pale purple even Melts around thy flight; [127] liike a star of heaven In the broad day-hght Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delight. Keen as are the arrows Of that silver sphere, Whose intense lamp narrows In the wliite dawn clear, Until we hardly see, we feel that it is there. AU the earth and air With thy voice is loud, As, when night is bare, From one lonely cloud The moon rains out her beams, and heaven is overflowed. What thou art we know not; What is most hke thee? From rainbow clouds there flow not Drops so bright to see. As from thy presence showers a rain of melody. Like a poet hidden, In the Ught of thought. Singing hymns unbidden. Till the world is wrought To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not; Like a high-born maiden In a palace tower, Soothing her love-laden [128 1 Soul in secret hour With music sweet as love, which overflows her bower; Like a glow-worm golden In a dell of dew, Scattering unbeholden Its aerial hue Among the flowers and grass which screen it from the view; Like a rose embowered In its own green leaves, By warm winds deflowered, Till the scent it gives Makes faint with too much sweet these heavy-winged thieves. Sound of vernal showers On the twinkling grass. Rain-awakened flowers, AU that ever was Joyous, and fresh, and clear, thy music doth surpass. Teach us, sprite or bird. What sweet thoughts are thine; I have never heard Praise of love or wine That panted forth a flood of rapture so divine. Chorus hymeneal, Or triumphant chant, [ 129 ] Matched with thine would be all But an empty vaunt, — A thing wherein we feel there is some hidden want. What objects are the fountains Of thy happy strain? What fields, or waves, or mountains? What shapes of sky or plain? What love of thine own kind? What ignorance of pain? With thy clear, keen joyance Languor cannot be; Shadow of annoyance Never came near thee; Thou lovest, but ne'er knew love's sad satiety. Waking, or asleep, Thou of death must deem Things more true and deep Than we mortals dream. Or how could thy notes flow in such a crystal stream? We look before and after. And pine for what is not; Our sincerest laughter With some pain is fraught; Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought. Yet if we could scorn Hate, and pride, and fear; r 130 ] If we were things born Not to shed a tear, I know not how thy joy we ever should come near. Better than all measures Of delightful soimd, Better than all treasures That in books are found, Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the groimd! Teach me half the gladness That thy brain must know, Such harmonious madness From my lips would flow, The world should Hsten then, as I am listening now. TO THE NIGHT Swiftly walk over the western wave, Spirit of Night! Out of the misty eastern cave, Where all the long and lone daylight Thou wovest dreams of joy and fear Which make thee terrible and dear, — Swift be thy flight! Wrap thy form in a mantle gray. Star-inwrought ; Blind with thine hair the eyes of Day, Kiss her until she be wearied out; [ 131 ] Then wander o^er city and sea and land Touching all with thine opiate wand — Come, long-sought I When I arose and saw the dawn, I sighed for thee; When light rode high, and the dew was gone, And noon lay heavy on flower and tree, And the weary Day turn'd to her rest Lingering Hke an unloved guest, I sighed for thee ! Thy brother Death came, and cried, "Wouldst thoume?" Thy sweet child Sleep, the filmy-eyed, Murmur'd like a noon-tide bee "Shall I nestle near thy side? Wouldst thou me?" — And I replied "No, not thee!" Death will come when thou art dead. Soon, too soon — Sleep will come when thou art fled; Of neither would I ask the boon I ask of thee, beloved Night — Swift be thine approaching flight. Come soon, soon! [ 132 ] EDWARD ROWLAND SILL FULFILLMENT All the skies laad gloomed in gray- Many a week, day after day: Nothing came the blank to fill, Notliing stirred the stagnant will. Winds were raw; buds would not swell: Some mahgn and sudden spell Soured the currents of the year And filled the heart with lurking fear. In his room he moped and glowered. Where the leaden dayhght lowered; Drummed the casement, turned his book. Hating nature's hostile look. Suddenly there came a day When he flung his gloom away, Something hinted help was near; Winds were fresh and sky was clear; Light he stepped, and firmly planned, — Some good news was close at hand Truly: for when day was done. He was lying all alone. Fretted pulse had ceased to beat. Very still were hands and feet. [133] And the robins through the long Twilight sang his slumber song. THE MYSTERY I NEVER know why 't is I love thee so : I do not think 't is that thine eyes for me Grow Hght as sudden sunshine on the sea; Nor for thy rose-leaf lips, or breast of snow, Or voice Uke quiet waters where they flow. So why I love thee well I cannot tell: Only it is that when thou speak'st to me 'T is thy voice speaks, and when thy face I It is thy face I see; and it befeU Thou wert, and I was, and I love thee well. [134] ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON MY BED IS LIKE A LITTLE BOAT My bed is like a little boat; Nurse helps me in when I embark; She girds me in my sailor's coat And starts me in the dark. At night I go on board and say Good-night to all my friends on shore; I shut my eyes and sail away And see and hear no more. And sometimes things to bed I take, As prudent sailors have to do; Perhaps a shce of wedding-cake, Perhaps a toy or two. All night across the dark we steer; But when the day returns at last, Safe in my room, beside the pier, I find my vessel fast. From " Poems Sf Ballads,'^ copyright 1895, 1896, by Charles Scribner^s Sons. [ 135] MY SHADOW I HAVE a little shadow that goes in and out with me, And what can be the use of him is more than I can see. He is very, very like me from the heels up to the head; And I see him jump before me, when I jump into my bed. The funniest thing about him is the way he Kkes to grow — Not at all Uke proper children, which is always very slow, For he sometimes shoots up taller like an india-rubber ball. And he sometimes gets so little that there 's none of him at all. He has n't got a notion of how children ought to play. And can only make a fool of me in every sort of way. He stays so close beside me, he 's a coward you can see; I 'd think shame to stick to nursie as that shadow sticks to me! One morning, very early, before the sun was up, I rose and found the shining dew on every buttercup; But my lazy httle shadow, Hke an arrant sleepy-head. Had stayed at home behind me and was fast asleep in bed. From "Poems and Ballads" copyright 1895, 1896, by Charles Sa-ibner's Sons. [136] REQUIEM Under the "wide and starry sky, Dig the grave and let me lie. Glad did I live and gladly die, And I laid me down with a will. This be the verse you grave for me: "Here he lies where he longed to he; Home is the sailor, home from the sea. And the hunter home from the hill" From " Poems and Ballads," copyright 1895, 1896, by Charles Scribner's Sons. [137] ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE A FORSAKEN GARDEN In a coign of the cliff between lowland and highland, At the sea-down's edge between windward and lee, Walled round with rocks as an inland island, The ghost of a garden fronts the sea. A girdle of brushwood and thorn encloses The steep square slope of the blossomless bed Where the weeds that grew green from the graves of its roses Now lie dead. The fields fall southward, abrupt and broken. To the low last edge of the long lone land. If a step should sound or a word be spoken, Would a ghost not rise at the strange guest's hand? So long have the gray bare walks lain guestless, Through branches and briers if a man make way, He shall find no Hfe but the sea-wind's, restless Night and day. The dense hard passage is blind and stifled That crawls by a track none turn to cHmb To the strait waste place that the years have rifled Of all but the thorns that are touched not of time. [ 138] The thorns he spares when the rose is taken; The rocks are left when he wastes the plain; The wind that wanders, the weeds wind-shaken, These remain. Not a flower to be prest of the foot that falls not; As the heart of a dead man the seed-plots are dry; From the thicket of thorns whence the nightingale calls not, Could she call, there were never a rose to reply. Over the meadows that blossom and wither, Rings but the note of a sea-bird's song. Only the sun and the rain come hither All year long. The sun burns sear, and the rain dishevels One gaunt bleak blossom of scentless breath. Only the wind here hovers and revels In a round where life seems barren as death. Here there was laughing of old, there was weeping, Haply, of lovers none ever will know. Whose eyes went seaward a hundred sleeping Heart handfast in heart as they stood, " Look thither," Did he whisper? " Look forth from the flowers to the sea; For the foam-flowers endure when the rose-blossoms wither. And men that love Hghtly may die — But we?" And the same wind sang, and the same waves whitened And or ever the garden's last petals were shed. [ 139 J In the lips that had whispered, the eyes that had light- ened, Love was dead. Or they loved their life through, and then went whither? And were one to the end — but what end who knows? Love deep as the sea as a rose must wither, As the rose-red seaweed that mocks the rose. Shall the dead take thought for the dead to love them? What love was ever as deep as a grave? They are loveless now as the grass above them Or the wave. All are at one now, roses and lovers, Not known of the chffs and the fields and the sea. Not a breath of the time that has been hovers In the air now soft with a summer to be. Not a breath shall there sweeten the seasons hereafter Of the flowers or the lovers that laugh now or weep, When as they that are free now of weeping and laughter We shall sleep. Here death may deal not again forever; Here change may come not till all change end. From the graves they have made they shall rise up never, Who have left naught living to ravage and rend. Earth, stones, and thorns of the wild ground growing, While the sim and the rain live, these shall be; Till a last wind's breath, upon all these blowing, Roll the sea. [ 140 ] Till the slow sea rise, and the sheer cliff crumble, Till terrace and meadow the deep gulfs drink, Till the strength of the waves of the high tides humble The fields that lessen, the rocks that shrink, Here now in his triumph where all things falter, Stretched out on the spoils that his own hand spread. As a god self-slain on his own strange altar, Death lies dead. CHORUSES FROM "ATALANTA IN CALYDON When the hounds of spring are on winter's traces, The mother of months in meadow or plain Fills the shadows and windy places With lisp of leaves and ripple of rain; And the brown bright nightingale amorous Is half assuaged for Itylus, For the Thracian ships and the foreign faces. The tongueless vigil, and all the pain. Come with bows bent and with emptying of quivers, Maiden most perfect, lady of hght, With a noise of winds and many rivers, With a clamor of waters, and with might; Bind on thy sandals, thou most fleet, Over the splendor and speed of thy feet; For the faint east quickens, the wan west shivers. Round the feet of the day and the feet of the night. [141] Where shall we find her, how shall we sing to her, Fold our hands round her knees, and cling? O that man's heart were as fire and could spring to her, Fire, or the strength of the streams that spring! For the stars and the winds are unto her As raiment, as songs of the harp-player; For the risen stars and the fallen cling to her, And the southwest-wind and the west-wind sing. For winter's rains and ruins are over. And all the season 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 rushes. Ripe grasses trammel a travelling foot. The faint fresh flame of the young year flushes From leaf to flower and flower to fruit; And fruit and leaf are as gold and fire. And the oat is heard above the lyre. And the hoofed heel of a satyr crushes The chestnut-husk at the chestnut-root. And Pan by noon and Bacchus by night, Fleeter of foot than the fleet-foot kid. Follows with dancing and fills with delight The Maenad and the Bassarid; [ 142] And soft as lips that laugh and hide The laughing leaves of the trees divide, And screen from seeing and leave in sight The god pursuing, the maiden hid. The ivy falls with the Bacchanars hair Over her eyebrows hiding her eyes; The wild vine sHpping down leaves bare Her bright breast shortening into sighs; The wild vine slips with the weight of its leaves. But the berried ivy catches and cleaves To the limbs that ghtter, the feet that scare The wolf that follows, the fawn that flies. II Who hath given man speech? or who hath set therein A thorn for peril and a snare for sin? For in the word his life is and his breath, And in the word his death. That madness and the infatuate heart may breed From the word's womb the deed And life bring one thing forth ere all pass by. Even one thing wliich is ours yet cannot die — Death. Hast thou seen him ever anywhere, Time's twin-born brother, imperishable as he Is perishable and plaintive, clothed with care And mutable as sand, But death is strong and full of blood and fair And perdurable and like a lord of land? [ 143] Nay, time thou seest not, death thou wilt not see Till life's right hand be loosened from thine hand, And thy Ufe-days from thee. For the gods very subtly fashion Madness with sadness upon earth: Not knowing in any wise compassion, Nor holding pity of any worth; And many things they have given and taken. And wrought and ruined many things; The firm land have they loosed and shaken, And sealed the sea with all her springs; They have wearied time with heavy burdens. And vexed the lips of life with breath: Set men to labor and given them guerdons. Death, and great darkness after death: Put moans into the bridal measure And on the bridal wools a stain; And circled pain about with pleasure. And girdled pleasure about with pain; And strewed one marriage-bed with tears and fire For extreme loathing and supreme desire. What shall be done with all these tears of ours? Shall they make watersprings in the fair heaven To bathe the brows of morning? or like flowers Be shed and shine before the starriest hours, Or made the raiment of the weeping Seven? Or rather, O our masters, shall they be Food for the famine of the grievous sea, A great well-head of lamentation Satiating the sad gods? or fall and flow [ 144] Among the years and seasons to and fro, And wash their feet with tribulation And fill them full with grieving ere they go? Alas, our lords, and yet alas again, Seeing all your iron heaven is gilt as gold But all we smite thereat in vain; Smite the gates barred with groanings manifold, But all the floors are paven with our pain. Yea, and with weariness of lips and eyes, With breaking of the bosom, and with sighs. We labor, and are clad and fed with grief And filled with days we should not fain behold And nights we would not hear of; we wax old, All we wax old and wither like a leaf. We are outcast, strayed between bright sun and moon; Our light and darkness are as leaves of flowers, Black flowers and white, that perish; and the noon As midnight, and the night as daylight hours. A little fruit a little while is ours. And the worm finds it soon. But up in heaven the high gods one by one Lay hands upon the draught that quickeneth. Fulfilled with all tears shed and all things done, And stir with soft imperishable breath The bubbling bitterness of life and death, And hold it to our lips, and laugh; but they Preserve their lips from tasting night or day, Lest they too change and sleep, the fates that spun, The Hps that made us and the hands that slay; Lest all these change, and heaven bow down to none. [ 145] Change and be subject to the secular sway And terrene revolution of the sun. Therefore they thrust it from them, putting time away. I would the wine of time, made sharp and sweet With multitudinous days and nights and tears And many mixing savors of strange years. Were no more trodden of them under feet. Cast out and spilt about their holy places: That hfe were given them as a fruit to eat And death to drink as water; that the hght Might ebb, drawn backward from their eyes, and night Hide for one hour the imperishable faces. That they might rise up sad in heaven and know Sorrow and sleep, one paler than young snow. One cold as bHght of dew and ruinous rain; Rise up and rest and suffer a little, and be Awhile as all things born with us and we. And grieve as men, and like slain men be slain. For now we know not of them; but one saith The gods are gracious, praising God; and one, When hast thou seen? or hast thou felt his breath Touch, nor consume thine eyeHds as the sun, Nor fill thee to the lips with fiery death? None hath beheld him, none Seen above other gods and shapes of things, Swift without feet and flying without wings, Intolerable, not clad with death or life, Insatiable, not known of night or day. The lord of love and loathing and of strife, [ 146] Who gives a star and takes a sun away; Who shapes the soul, and makes her a barren wife To the earthly body and grievous growth of clay; Who turns the large limbs to a little flame, And binds the great sea with a little sand; Who makes desire, and slays desire with shame; Who shakes the heaven as ashes in his hand; Who, seeing the light and shadow for the same, Bids day waste night as fire devours a brand, Smites without sword, and scourges without rod, — The supreme evil, God. Yea, with thine hate, O God, thou hast covered us. One saith, and hidden our eyes away from sight. And made us transitory and hazardous, Light things and slight; Yet have men praised thee, saying. He hath made man thus, And he doeth right. Thou hast kissed us, and hast smitten; thou hast laid Upon us with thy left hand life, and said, Live: and again thou hast said. Yield up your breath. And with thy right hand laid upon us death. Thou hast sent us sleep, and stricken sleep with dreams. Saying, Joy is not, but love of joy shall be; Thou hast made sweet springs for all the pleasant streams, In the end thou hast made them bitter with the sea. Thou hast fed one rose with dust of many men; Thou hast marred one face with fire of many tears; Thou hast taken love, and given us sorrow again; With pain thou hast filled us full to the eyes and ears. [ 147] Therefore because thou art strong, our father, and we Feeble; and thou art against us, and thine hand Constrains us in the shallows of the sea And breaks us at the limits of the land; Because thou hast bent the hghtnings as a bow, And loosed the hours like arrows; and let fall Sins and wild words and many a winged woe And wars among us, and one end of all; Because thou hast made the thunder, and thy feet Are as a rushing water when the skies Break, but thy face as an exceeding heat, And flames of fire the eyehds of thine eyes; Because thou art over all who are over us; Because thy name is life, and our name death; Because thou art cruel, and men are piteous, And our hands labor, and thine hand scattereth: Lo, with hearts rent and knees made tremulous, Lo, with ephemeral lips and casual breath, At least we witness of thee ere we die That these things are not otherwise, but thus; That each man in his heart sigheth, and saith, That all men even as I, All we are against thee, against thee, O God most high. But ye, keep ye on earth Your Hps from over-speech, Loud words and longing are so Httle worth; And the end is hard to reach. For silence after grievous things is good. And reverence, and the fear that makes men whole, And shame, and righteous governance of blood, And lordship of the soul. [ 148] But from sharp words and wits men pluck no fruit, And gathering thorns they shake the tree at root; For words divide and rend; But silence is most noble till the end. Ill Before the beginning of years There came to the making of man Time, with a gift of tears; Grief, with a glass that ran; Pleasure, with pain for leaven; Summer, with flowers that fell; Remembrance fallen from heaven, And madness risen from hell; Strength without hands to smite; Love that endures for a breath; Night, the shadow of Hght, And life, the shadow of death. And the high gods took in hand Fire, and the falling of tears, And a measure of shding sand From under the feet of the years; And froth and drift of the sea; And dust of the laboring earth; And bodies of things to be In the houses of death and of birth; And wrought with weeping and laughter And fashioned with loathing and love. [149] With life before and after And death beneath and above, For a day and a night and a morrow, That his strength might endure for a span With travail and heavy sorrow, The holy spirit of man. From the winds of the north and the south They gathered as imto strife; They breathed upon his mouth, They filled his body with life; Eyesight and speech they wrought For the veils of the soul therein, A time for labor and thought, A time to serve and to sin; They gave him light in his ways, And love, and a space for dehght. And beauty and length of days, And night, and sleep in the night. His speech is a burning fire; With his lips he travaileth; In his heart is a blind desire, In his eyes foreknowledge of death; He weaves, and is clothed with derision; Sows, and he shall not reap; His life is a watch or a vision Between a sleep and a sleep. [ 150] HYMN TO PROSERPINE AFTER THE PROCLAMATION IN ROME OF THE CHRISTIAN FAITH Vicisti, Galilcee I HAVE lived long enough, having seen one thing, that love hath an end; Goddess and maiden and queen, be near me now and be- friend. Thou art more than the day or the morrow, the seasons that laugh or that weep; For these give joy and sorrow; but thou, Proserpina, sleep. Sweet is the treading of wine, and sweet the feet of the dove; But a goodlier gift is thine than foam of the grapes or love. Yea, is not even Apollo, with hair and harpstring of gold, A bitter God to follow, a beautiful God to behold? I am sick of sieging: the bays burn deep and chafe: I am fain To rest a Httle from praise and grievous pleasure and pain. For the Gods we know not of, who give us our daily breath, We know they are cruel as love or life, and lovely as death. O Gods dethroned and deceased^ cast forth, wiped out in a dayl [ 151 ] From your wrath is the world released, redeemed from your chains, men say. New Gods are crowned in the city; their flowers have broken your rods; They are merciful, clothed with pity, the young com- passionate Gods. But for me their new device is barren, the days are bare; Things long past over suffice, and men forgotten that were. Time and the Gods are at strife; ye dwell in the midst thereof, Draining a little life from the barren breasts of love. I say to you, cease, take rest; yea, I say to you all, be at peace. Till the bitter milk of her breast and the barren bosom shall cease. Wilt thou yet take all, GaHlean? but these thou shalt not take. The laurel, the palms and the psean, the breast of the nymphs in the brake; Breasts more soft than a dove's, that tremble with tenderer breath; And all the wings of the Loves, and all the joy before death; All the feet of the hours that sound as a single lyre. Dropped and deep in the flowers, with strings that flicker like fire, More than these wilt thou give, things fairer than all these things? Nay, for a little we live, and Hfe hath mutable wings. A little while and we die; shall Hfe not thrive as it may? [ 152] For no man under the sky lives twice, outliving his day. And grief is a grievous thing, and a man hath enough of his tears: Why should he labor, and bring fresh grief to blacken his years? Thou hast conquered, O pale GaHlean; the world has grown gray from thy breath; We have drunken of things Lethean, and fed on the ful- ness of death. Laurel is green for a season, and love is sweet for a day; But love grows bitter with treason, and laurel outlives not May, Sleep, shall we sleep after all? for the world is not sweet in the end; For the old faitlis loosen and fall, the new years ruin and rend. Fate is a sea without shore, and the soul is a rock that abides; But her ears are vexed with the roar and her face with the foam of the tides. O lips that the Hve blood faints in, the leavings of racks and rods! ghastly glories of saints, dead Hmbs of gibbeted Godsl Though all men abase them before you in spirit, and all knees bend, 1 kneel not neither adore you, but standing, look to the end. All delicate days and pleasant, all spirits and sorrows are cast Far out with the foam of the present that sweeps to the surf of the past: [ 153] Where beyond the extreme sea-wall, and between the remote sea-gates, Waste water washes, and tall ships founder, and deep death waits: Where, mighty with deepening sides, clad about with the seas as with wings. And impelled of invisible tides, and fulfilled of unspeak- able things. White-eyed and poisonous-finned, shark-toothed and serpentine-curled, Rolls, under the whitening wind of the future ^ the wave of the world. The depths stand naked in sunder behind it, the storms flee away; In the hollow before it the thunder is taken and snared as a prey; In its sides is the north-wind bound; and its salt is of all men's tears; With light of ruin, and sound of changes, and pulse of years : With travail of day after day, and with trouble of hour upon hour; And bitter as blood is the spray; and the crests are as fangs that devour: And its vapor and storm of its steam as the sighing of spirits to be; And its noise as the noise in a dream ; and its depth as the roots of the sea: And the height of its heads as the height of the utter- most stars of the air: [ 154] And the ends of the earth at the might thereof tremble, and time is made bare. Will ye bridle the deep sea with reins, will ye chasten the high sea with rods? Will ye take her to chain her with chains, who is older than all ye Gods? All ye as a wind shall go by, as a fire shall ye pass and be past; Ye are Gods, and behold, ye shall die, and the waves be upon you at last. In the darkness of time, in the deeps of the years, in the changes of things, Ye shall sleep as a slain man sleeps, and the world shall forget you for kings. Though the feet of thine high priests tread where thy lords and our forefathers trod, Though these that were Gods are dead, and thou being dead art a God, Though before thee the throned Cytherean be fallen, and hidden her head, Yet thy kingdom shall pass, Gahiean, thy dead shall go down to thee dead. Of the maiden thy mother men sing as a goddess with grace clad aroimd; Thou art throned where another was king; where another was queen she is crowned. Yea, once we had sight of another: but now she is queen, say these. Not as thine, not as thine was our mother, a blossom of flowering seas. [ 155] Clothed round with the world's desire as with raiment, and fair as the foam, And fleeter than kindled fire, and a goddess, and mother of Rome. For thine came pale and a maiden, and sister to sorrow; but ours. Her deep hair heavily laden with odor and color of flowers. White rose of the rose-white water, a silver splendor, a flame, Bent down unto us that besought her, and earth grew sweet with her name. For thine came weeping, a slave among slaves, and re- jected; but she Came flushed from the full-flushed wave, and imperial, her foot on the sea. And the wonderful waters knew her, the winds and the viewless ways, And the roses grew rosier, and bluer the sea-blue stream of the bays. Ye are fallen, our lords, by what token? we wist that ye should not fall. Ye were all so fair that are broken; and one more fair than ye all. But I turn to her still, having seen she shall surely abide in the end; Goddess and maiden and queen, be near me now and befriend. daughter of earth, of my mother, her crown and blos- som of birth, 1 am also, I also, thy brother; I go as I came unto earth. [ 156 ] In the night where thine eyes are as moons are in heaven, the night where thou art, Where the silence is more than all tmies, where sleep overflows from the heart, Where the poppies are sweet as the rose in our world, and the red rose is white, And the wind falls faint as it blows with the fume of the flowers of the night, And the murmur of spirits that sleep in the shadow of Gods from afar Grows dim in thine ears and deep as the deep dim soul of a star, In the sweet low light of thy face, under heavens untrod by the sun, Let my soul with their souls find place, and forget what is done and undone. Thou art more than the Gods who number the days of our temporal breath; For these give labor and slumber; but thou, Proserpina, death. Therefore now at thy feet I abide for a season in silence. I know I shall die as my fathers died, and sleep as they sleep; even so. For the glass of the years is brittle wherein we gaze for a span; A little soul for a little bears up this corpse which is man. So long I endure, no longer; and laugh not again, neither weep. For there is no God found stronger than death; and death is a sleep. [157 3 ODE ON THE PROCLAMATION OF THE FRENCH REPUBLIC, SEPTEMBER 4, 1870 A VICTOR HUGO STROPHE With songs and crying and sounds of acclamation Lo, the flame risen, the fire that falls in showers 1 Hark; for the word is out among the nations: Look; for the light is up upon the hours: O fears, O shames, O many tribulations, Yours were aU yesterdays, but this day ours. Strong were your bonds linked fast with lamentations, With groans and tears built into walls and towers; Strong were your works and wonders of high stations. Your forts blood-based and rampires of your powers : Lo! now the last of divers desolations. The hand of time, that gathers hosts like flowers: Time that fills up and pours out generations. Time, at whose breath confounded empire cowers. antistrophe Not of thy sons, mother many wounded. Not of thy sons are slaves ingraffed and grown. Was it not thine, the fire whence light rebounded From Kingdom on rekindling Kingdom thrown, From hearts confirmed on tyi-annies confounded, From earth on heaven, fire mightier than his own? Not thine the breath wherewith time's clarion sounded And all the terror of the trumpet blown? The voice whereat the thunder stood astounded [158] As at a new sound of a God unknown? And all the seas and shores within them bounded Shook at the strange speech of thy Hps alone, And aU the hills of heaven, the storm-surrounded, Trembled, and all the night sent forth a groan. [ 159] ARTHUR SYMONS AN ENDING I WILL go my ways from the city, and then, maybe, My heart shall forget one woman's voice, and her lips; I will arise, and set my face to the sea, Among stranger-folk and in the wandering ships. The world is great, and the bomids of it who shall set? It may be I shall find, somewhere in the world I shaU find, A land that my feet may abide in; then I shall forget The woman I loved, and the years that are left be- hind. But, if the ends of the world are not wide enough To out-weary my heart, and to find for my heart some fold, I will go back to the city, and her I love, And look on her face, and remember the days of old. AT' CARBIS BAY Out of the night of the sea, Out of the turbulent night, A sharp and hurrying wind Scourges the waters white: The terror by night. From " The Poems of Arthur Symons," copyrighted by John Lane Co. [160] Out of the doubtful dark, Out of the night of the land, What is it breathes and broods, Hoveringly at hand? The menace of land. Out of the night of heaven, Out of the delicate sky, Pale and serene the stars In their silence reply: The peace of the sky. AT DIEPPE AFTER SUNSET The sea lies quieted beneath The after-sunset flush That leaves upon the heaped grey clouds The grape's faint purple blush. Pale, from a little space in heaven Of delicate ivory, , The sickle-moon and one gold star Look down upon the sea^ IN IRELAND BY THE POOL AT THE THIRD ROSSES I HEARD the sighing of the reeds In the grey pool in the green land, From " The Poems of Arthtir Symons" copyrighted by John Lane Co. [ 161 ] The sea-wind in the long reeds sighing Between the green hill and the sand. I heard the sighing of the reeds Day after day, night after night; I heard the whirring wild ducks flying, I saw the sea-gulls' wheeling flight. I heard the sighing of the reeds Night after night, day after day, And I forgot old age, and d5dng And youth that loves, and love's decay. I heard the sighing of the reeds At noontide and at evening, And some old dream I had forgotten I seemed to be remembering. I hear the sighing of the reeds: Is it in vain, is it in vain That some old peace I had forgotten Is crying to come back again? BY LOUGH-NA-GAR : GREEN LIGHT The light of the world is of gold. But the Kght of the green earth fills The nestling heart of the hills; And the world's hours are old, And the world's thoughts are a dream, From " The Poems of Arthur Symans" copyrighted by John Lane Co. [ 162] Here, in the ancient place Of peace, where old sorrows seem As the half -forgotten face Of flower-bright cities of gold That blossom beyond the height Seems in the earth-green light That is old as the earth is old. THE REGRET It seems to me, dearest, if you were dead, And thought returned to me after the tears, The hopeless first obHvious tears, were shed, That this would be the bitterest, not that I Had lost for all sad hours of all my years The joys enjoyed and happy hours gone by; Ah no, but that while we had time to live And love before the coming of the night, Yet knew the hours of dayhght fugitive, Proud as a child who will not what he would, Sometimes I did not love you as I might. Sometimes you did not love me when you could. THE FISHER'S WIDOW The boats go out and the boats come in Under the wintry sky; And the rain and foam are white in the wind, And the white gulls cry. From " The Poems of Arthur Symons" copyrighted by John Lane Co. [ 163 ] She sees the sea when the wind is wild Swept by the windy rain; And her heart 's a-weary of sea and land As the long days wane. She sees the torn sails fly in the foam, Broad on the sky-line grey; And the boats go out and the boats come in, But there 's one away. THE CRYING OF WATER O WATER, voice of my heart, crying in the sand, All night long crying with a mournful cry, As I Ke and Hsten, and cannot understand The voice of my heart in my side or the voice of the sea, O water, crying for rest, is it I, is it I? All night long the water is crying to me. Unresting water, there shall never be rest Till the last moon droop and the last tide fail, And the fire of the end begin to burn in the west; And the heart shall be weary and wonder and cry like the sea, All life long crying without avail. As the water all night long is crjdng to me. From " The Poems of Arthur Symons," coxiyrighted by John Lane Co. [ 164] ALFRED LORD TENNYSON BREAK, BREAK, BREAK Break, break, break. On thy cold gray stones, O Sea! And I would that my tongue could utter The thoughts that arise in me. well for the fisherman's boy, That he shouts with his sister at play! O well for the sailor lad, That he sings in his boat on the bay! And the stately ships go on To their haven under the hill; But O for the touch of a vanish'd hand, And the sound of a voice that is still! Break, break, break, At the foot of thy crags, Sea! But the tender grace of a day that is dead Will never come back to me. CROSSING THE BAR Sunset and evening star. And one clear call for me! [ 165 ] And may there be no moaning of the bar, When I put out to sea, But such a tide as moving seems asleep. Too full for sound and foam. When that which drew from out the boundless deep Turns again home. Twilight and evening bell, And after that the dark! And may there be no sadness of farewell, When I embark; For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place The flood may bear me far, I hope to see my Pilot face to face When I have crossed the bar. TITHONUS The woods decay, the woods decay and fall, The vapors weep their burthen to the ground, Man comes and tills the field and Hes beneath, And after many a summer dies the swan. Me only cruel immortality Consumes; I wither slowly in thine arms, Here at the quiet limit of the world, A white-hair'd shadow roaming Hke a dream The ever silent spaces of the East, Far-folded mists, and gleaming halls of morn. [ 166] Alas! for this gray shadow, once a man — So glorious in his beauty and thy choice, Who madest him thy chosen, that he seem'd To his great heart none other than a God! I ask'd thee, " Give me immortality." Then didst thou grant mine asldng with a smile. Like wealthy men who care not how they give. But thy strong Hours indignant work'd their wills And beat me down and marr'd and wasted me. And tho' they could not end me, left me maim'd To dwell in presence of immortal youth. Immortal age beside immortal youth. And all I was in ashes. Can thy love. Thy beauty, make amends, tho' even now, Close over us, the silver star, thy guide. Shines in those tremulous eyes that fill with tears To hear me? Let me go; take back thy gift. Why should a man desire in any way To vary from the kindly race of men, Or pass beyond the goal of ordinance Where all should pause, as is most meet for all? A soft air fans the clouds apart; there comes A glimpse of that dark world where I was born. Once more the old mysterious glimmer steals From thy pure brows, and from thy shoulders pure, And bosom beating with a heart renew'd. Thy cheek begins to redden thro' the gloom, Thy sweet eyes brighten slowly close to mine, Ere yet they blind the stars, and the wild team Which love thee, yearning for thy yoke, arise. [ 167] And shake the darkness from their loosen'd manes And beat the twilight into flakes of fire. Lo! ever thus thou growest beautiful In silence, then before thine answer given Departest, and thy tears are on my cheek. Why wilt thou ever scare me with thy tears, And make me tremble lest a saying learnt, In days far-off, on that dark earth, be true? " The gods themselves cannot recall their gifts." Ay me! ay me! with what another heart In days far-off, and with what other eyes I used to watch — if I be he that watch'd — The lucid outline forming round thee; saw The dim curls kindle into sunny rings; Changed with thy mystic change, and felt my blood Glow with the glow that slowly crimson'd aU Thy presence and thy portals, while I lay, Mouth, forehead, eyehds, growing dewy-warm With kisses balmier than half-opening buds Of April, and could hear the Hps that kiss'd Whispering I knew not what of wild and sweet, Like that strange song I heard Apollo sing While Ilion like a mist rose into towers. Yet hold me not forever in thine East; How can my nature longer mix with thine? Coldly thy rosy shadows bathe me, cold Are all thy Hghts, and cold my wrinkled feet [ 168 1 Upon thy glimmering thresholds, when the steam Floats up from those dim fields about the homes Of happy men that have the power to die, And grassy barrows of the happier dead. Release me, and restore me to the ground. Thou seest all things, thou wilt see my grave; Thou wilt renew thy beauty morn by morn, I earth in earth forget these empty courts. And thee returning on thy silver wheels. [ 169 ] JAMES THOMPSON THE CITY OF DREADFUL NIGHT PROEM Lo, thus, as prostrate, "In the dust I write My heart's deep languor and my soul's sad tears." Yet why evoke the spectres of black night To blot the sunshine of exultant years? Why disinter dead faith from mouldering liidden? Why break the seals of mute despair unbidden, And wail life's discords into careless ears? Because a cold rage seizes one at whiles To show the bitter old and wrinkled truth Stripped naked of all vesture that beguiles. False dreams, false hopes, false masks and modes of youth; Because it gives some sense of power and passion In helpless impotence to try to fashion Our woe in Hving words howe'er uncouth. Surely I write not for the hopeful young. Or those who deem their happiness of worth, Or such as pasture or grow fat among The shows of life and feel no doubt nor dearth, Or pious spirits with a God above them, To sanctify and glorify and love them, Or sages who foresee a heaven on earth. [ 170] For none of these I write, and none of these Could read the writing if they deigned to try: So may they flourish, in their due degrees, On our sweet earth and in their unplaced sky. If any cares for the weak words here written, It must be some one desolate, Fate-smitten, Whose faith and hope are dead, and who would die. Yes, here and there some weary wanderer In that same city of tremendous night. Will understand the speech, and feel a stir Of fellowship in all-disastrous fight; " I suffer mute and lonely, yet another Uplifts his voice to let me know a brother Travels the same wild paths though out of sight." O sad Fraternity, do I unfold Your dolorous mysteries shrouded from of yore ? Nay, be assured ; no secret can be told To any who divined it not before: None uninitiate by many a presage Will comprehend the language of the message, Although proclaimed aloud for evermore. SECTION II Because he seemed to walk with an intent I followed him; who, shadowlike and frail, Unswervingly though slowly onward went, Regardless, wrapped in thought as in a veil: Thus step for step with lonely sounding feet We travelled many a long dim silent street. [ 171 ] At length he paused: a black mass in the gloom, A tower that merged into the heavy sky; Around, the huddled stones of grave and tomb: Some old God's Acre now corruption's sty; He murmured to himself with dull despair, Here Faith died, poisoned by this charnel air. Then turning to the right went on once more. And travelled weary roads without suspense; And reached at last a low wall's open door, Whose villa gleamed beyond the foHage dense: He gazed, and muttered with a hard despair, Here Love died, stabbed by its own worshipped pair. Then turning to the right resumed his march. And travelled streets and lanes with wondrous strength, Until on stooping through a narrow arch "We stood before a squalid house at length: He gazed, and whispered with a cold despair. Here Hope died, starved out in its utmost lair. When he had spoken thus, before he stirred, I spoke, perplexed by something in the signs Of desolation I had seen and heard In this drear pilgrimage to ruined shrines: When Faith and Love and Hope are dead indeed. Can Life still Hve? By what doth it proceed? As whom his one intense thought overpowers. He answered coldly, Take a watch, erase [ 172] The signs and figures of the circling hours, Detach the hands, remove the dial-face; The works proceed until run down; although Bereft of purpose, void of use, stiU go. Then turning to the right paced on again, And traversed squares and travelled streets whose gloom Seemed more and more familiar to my ken; And reached that sullen temple of the tombs; And paused to murmur with the old despair, Here Faith died, poisoned by this charnel air. I ceased to follow, for the knot of doubt Was severed sharply with a cruel knife: He circled thus for ever tracing out The series of the fraction left of Life; Perpetual recurrence in the scope Of but three terms, dead Faith, dead Love, .dead Hope. SECTION IV He stood alone within the spacious square Declaiming from the central grassy mound, With head uncovered and with streaming hair. As if large multitudes were gathered round: A stalwart shape, the gestures full of might, The glances burning with unnatural Hght: — As I came through the desert thus it was. As I came through the desert: All was black, In heaven no single star, on earth no track; t 173] A brooding hush without a stir or note, The air so thick it clotted in my throat; And thus for hours; then some enormous things Swooped past with savage cries and clanking wings: But I strode on austere; No hope could have no fear. As I came through the desert thus it was, As I came through the desert : Eyes of fire Glared at me throbbing with a starved desire; The hoarse and heavy and carnivorous breath Was hot upon me from deep jaws of death; Sharp claws, swift talons, fleshless fingers cold Plucked at me from the bushes, tried to hold: But I strode on austere; No hope could have no fear. As I came through the desert thus it was. As I came through the desert: Lo you, there. That hillock burning with a brazen glare; Those myriad dusky flames with points a-glow Which writhed and hissed and darted to and fro; A Sabbath of the Serpents, heaped pell-mell For Devil's roll-call and some fete of Hell: Yet I strode on austere; No hope could have no fear. As I came through the desert thus it was, As I came through the desert: Meteors ran And crossed their javelins on the black sky-span; The zenith opened to a gulf of flame, [ 174 ] The dreadful thunderbolts jarred earth's fixed frame: The ground all heaved in waves of fire that surged And weltered round me sole there imsubmerged: Yet I strode on austere; No hope could have no fear. As I came through the desert thus it was, As I came through the desert: Air once more, And I was close upon a wild sea-shore; Enormous cHffs arose on either hand, The deep tide thundered up a league-broad strand; White foambelts seethed there, wan spray swept and flew; The sky broke, moon and stars and clouds and blue: And I strode on austere; No hope could have no fear. As I came through the desert thus it was, As I came through the desert: On the left The sun arose and crowned a broad crag-cleft; There stopped and burned out black, except a rim, A bleeding eyeless socket, red and dim; Whereon the moon fell suddenly south-west, And stood above the right-hand cliffs at rest: Still I strode on austere; No hope could have no fear. As I came through the desert thus it was. As I came through the desert: From the right A shape came slowly with a ruddy hght; A woman with a red lamp in her hand, Bareheaded and barefooted on that strand; [ 175] O desolation moving with such grace! O anguish with such beauty in thy face. I fell as on my bier, Hope travailed with such fear. As I came tlirough the desert thus it was, As I came through the desert : I was twain, Two selves distinct that cannot join again; One stood apart and knew but could not stir, And watched the other stark in swoon and her; And she came on, and never turned aside. Between such sun and moon and roaring tide: And as she came more near My soul grew mad with fear. As I came through the desert thus it was. As I came through the desert: Hell is mild And piteous matched with that accursed wild; A large black sign was on her breast that bowed, A broad black band ran down her snow-white shroud That lamp she held was her own burning heart, Whose blood-drops trickled step by step apart; The mystery was clear; Mad rage had swallowed fear. As I came through the desert thus it was. As I came through the desert: By the sea She knelt and bent above that senseless me; Those lamp-drops fell upon my white brow there, She tried to cleanse them with her tears and hair; She murmured words of pity, love, and woe, [ 176] She heeded not the level rushing flow: And mad with rage and fear, I stood stonebound so near. As I came through the desert thus it was, As I came through the desert: When the tide Swept up to her there kneeling by my side. She clasped that corpse-like me, and they were borne Away, and this vile me was left forlorn; I know the whole sea cannot quench that heart, Or cleanse that brow, or wash those two apart: They love; their doom is drear, Yet they nor hope nor fear; But I, what do I here? A REQUIEM Thou hast Hved in pain and woe. Thou hast Uved in grief and fear; Now thine heart can dread no blow, Now thine eyes can shed no tear: Storms round us shall beat and rave; Thou art sheltered in the grave. Thou for long, long years hast borne, Bleeding through Life's wilderness. Heavy loss and wounding scorn; Now thine heart is burdenless : Vainly rest for ours we crave; Thine is quiet in the grave. [ 177] We must toil with pain and care, We must front tremendous Fate, We must fight with dark Despair: Thou dost dwell in solemn state, Couched triumphant, calm and brave, In the ever-holy grave. [ 178] WALT WHITMAN OUT OF THE CRADLE ENDLESSLY ROCKING Out of the cradle endlessly rocking, Out of the mocking-bird's throat, the musical shuttle, Out of the Ninth-month midnight, Over the sterile sands and the fields beyond, where the child leaving his bed wander'd alone, bareheaded, barefoot, Down from the shower'd halo. Up from the mystic play of shadows twining and twisting as if they were aUve, Out from the patches of briers and blackberries, From the memories of the bird that chanted to me, From your memories, sad brother, from the fitful risings and fallings I heard, From under that yeUow half -moon late-risen and swoUen as if with tears. From those beginning notes of yearning and love there in the mist, From the thousand responses of my heart never to cease, From the myriad thence-aroused words. From the word stronger and more dehcious than any From such as now they start the scene revisiting. As a flock, twittering, rising, or overhead passing. Borne hither, ere all eludes me, hurriedly, A man, yet by these tears a Httle boy again, Throwing myself on the sand, confronting the waves, [ 179 ] I, chanter of pains and joys, uniter of here and hereafter, Taking all hints to use them, but swiftly leaping beyond them, A reminiscence sing. Once Paumanok, When the lilac-scent was in the air and Fifth-month grass was growing. Up this seashore in some briers, Two feathered guests from Alabama, two together, And their nest, and four Hght-green eggs spotted with brown, And every day the he-bird to and fro near at hand. And every day the she-bird crouch'd on her nest, silent, with bright eyes, And every day I, a curious boy, never too close, never disturbing them. Cautiously peering, absorbing, translating. Shine! shine! shine! Pour down your warmth, great sun! While we bask, we two together. Two together! Winds blow south, or winds blow north, Day come white or night come black, Home, or rivers and mountains from home. Singing all time, minding no time. While we two keep together. Till of a sudden May-be kill'd, unknown to her mate. [ 180 ] One forenoon the she-bird crouch' d not on the nest, Nor return' d that afternoon, nor the next Nor ever appear' d again. And thenceforward all summer in the sound of the sea, And all night under the fuU of the moon in calmer weather. Over the hoarse surging of the sea, Or flitting from brier to brier by day, I saw, I heard at intervals the remaining one, the he-bird, The soUtary guest from Alabama. Blow! blow! blow! Blow up sea-winds along Paumanok's shore; I wait and I wait till you blow my mate to me. Yes, when the stars ghsten'd. All night long on the prong of a moss-scallop'd stake, Down almost amid the slapping waves, Sat the lone singer wonderful causing tears. He called on his mate. He pour'd forth the meanings which I of aU men know. Yes, my brother, I know. The rest might not, but I have treasur'd every note, For more than once dimly down to the beach ghding. Silent, avoiding the moonbeams, blending myself with the shadows. Recalling now the obscure shapes, the echoes, the sounds and sights after their sorts. The white arms out in the breakers tirelessly tossing, I, with bare feet, a child, the wind wafting my hair, Listen'd long and long. [ 181 ] Soothe ! soothe ! soothe ! Close on its wave soothes the wave behind, And again another behind embracing and lafjping, every one close, But my love soothes not me, not me. Low hangs the moon, it rose late, It is lagging — 01 think it is heavy with love, with love. madly the sea pushes upon the land, With love, with love. night ! do I not see my love fluttering out among the break- ers? What is that little black thing I see there in the white? Loud! Loud! loud! Loud I call to you, my love ! High and clear I shoot my voice over the waves, Surely you must know who is here, is here, You must know who I am, my love. Low-hanging moon ! What is that dusky spot in your brown yellow ? is it the shape, the shape of my mate ! O moon do not keep her from me any longer. Land! land! land! Whichever way I turn, 1 think you could give me my mate back again if you only would. For I am almost sure I see her dimly whichever way I look. rising stars I Perhaps the one I want so much will rise, will rise with some of you. O throat I trembling throat ! Sound clearer through the atmosphere ! [ 182 ] Pierce the woods, the earth, Somewhere listening to catch you must be the one I want. Shake out carols I Solitary here, the night's carols I Carols of lonesome love ! death's carols ! Carols under that lagging, yellow, waning moon ! under that moon where she droo'ps almost downinto the sea ! reckless despairing carols. But soft ! sink low ! Soft ! let me just murmur, And do you wait a moment you husky nois'd sea, For somewhere I believe I heard my mate responding to me, So faint, I must be still, be still to listen. But not altogether still, for then she might not come imme- diately to me. Hither my love ! Here I am ! here ! With this just-sustain' d note I announce myself to you, This gentle call is for you my love, for you. Do not be decoy'd elsewhere. That is the whistle of the wind, it is not my voice, That is the fluttering, the fluttering of the spray, Those are the shadows of leaves. darkness! in vain! I am very sick and sorrowful. brown halo in the sky near the moon, droojring upon the sea ! troubled reflection in the sea ! throat ! O throbbing heart ! And I singing uselessly, uselessly all the night. [ 183 ] past ! happy life ! songs of joy ! In the air, in the woods, over fields, Loved! loved! loved! loved! loved! But my mate no more, no more with me ! We two together no more. The aria sinking, All else continuing, the stars shining, The winds blowing, the notes of the bird continuous echo- ing, With angry moans the fierce old mother incessantly moaning. On the sands of Paumanok's shore gray and rustling, The yellow half-moon enlarged, sagging down, drooping, the face of the sea almost touching. The boy ecstatic, with his bare feet the waves, with his hair the atmosphere dallying. The love in the heart long pent, now loose, now at last tumultuously bursting. The aria's meaning, the ears, the soul, swiftly deposit- ing, The strange tears down the cheeks coursing. The colloquy there, the trio, each uttering. The undertone, the savage old mother incessantly crying. To the boy's soul's questions sullenly timing, some drown'd secret hissing. To the outsetting bard. Demon or bird! (said the boy's soul,) Is it indeed toward your mate you sing? or is it really to me? [184] For I, that was a child, my tongue's use sleeping, now have heard you, Now in a moment I know what I am for, I awake, And already a thousand singers, a thousand songs, clearer, louder and more sorrowful than yours, A thousand warbling echoes have started to life within me, never to die. O you singer solitary, singing by yourself, projecting me, O solitary me listening, never more shall I cease perpetu- ating you, Never more shall I escape, never more the reverbera- tions. Never more the cries of unsatisfied love be absent from me, Never again leave me to be the peaceful child I was be- fore what there in the night. By the sea under the yellow and sagging moon. The messenger there arous'd, the fire, the sweet hell within, The unknown want, the destiny of me. O give me a clue! (it lurks in the night here somewhere,) O if I am to have so much, let me have morel A word then, (for I wiU conquer it,) The word final, superior to all. Subtle, sent up — what is it? — I listen; Are you whispering it, and have been all the time, you sea-waves? Is that it from your liquid rims and wet sands? Whereto answering, the sea, Delaying not, hurrying not, Whisper'd me through the night, and very plainly be- fore day-break, [ 185] Lisp'd to me the low and delicious word death, And again death, death, death, death. Hissing melodious, neither like the bird, nor like m}' aroused child's heart. But edging near as privately for me rustling at my feet, Creeping thence steadily up to my ears and laving me softly all over, Death, death, death, death, death. Which I do not forget. But fuse the song of my dusky demon and brother, That he sang to me in the moonhght on Paumanok's gray beach. With the thousand responsive songs at random, My own songs awaked from that hour, And with them the key, the word up from the waves. The word of the sweetest song and all songs. That strong and delicious word which, creeping to my feet, (Or like some old crone rocking the cradle, swathed in sweet garments, bending aside,) The sea whisper'd me. "WHEN LILACS LAST IN THE DOORYARD BLOOMED" Come lovely and soothing death, Undulate round the world, serenely arriving, arriving. In the day, in the night, to all, to each. Sooner or later delicate death. [ 186 ] Prais'd be the fathomless universe, For Hfe and joy, and for objects and knowledge curious. And for love, sweet love — but praise! praise! praise! For the sure-enwinding arms of cool-enfolding death. Dark mother always gliding near with soft feet. Have none chanted for thee a chant of fullest welcome? Then I chant it for thee, I glorify thee above all, I bring thee a song that when thou must indeed come, come unfalteringly. Approach strong deHveress, When it is so, when thou hast taken them I joyously sing the dead. Lost in the loving floating ocean of thee, Laved in the flood of thy bliss death. From me to thee glad serenades, Dances for thee I propose saluting thee, adornments and feastings for thee, And the sights of the open landscape and the liigh-spread sky are fitting, And life and the fields, and the huge and thoughtful night. The night in silence under many a star. The ocean shore and the husky whispering wave whose voice I know. And the soul turning to thee O vast and well-veil'd death. And the body gratefully nestling close to thee. [ 187] Over the tree-tops I float thee a song, Over the rising and sinking waves, over the myriad fields and the prairies wide. Over the dense-pack'd cities all and the teeming wharves and ways, I float this carol with joy, with joy to thee death. [188] WILLIAM WORDSWORTH WESTMINSTER BRIDGE September 3, 1802 Earth has not anything to show more fair: Dull would he be of soul who could pass by A sight so touching in its majesty: This city now doth like a garment wear The beauty of the morning; silent, bare, Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie Open unto the fields and to the sky, All bright and glittering in the smokeless air. Never did sim more beautifully steep In his first splendor valley, rock, or hill; Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep! The river ghdeth at his own sweet will. Dear God I the very houses seem asleep; And aU that mighty heart is Ijdng still I DAFFODILS I wander'd lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills, When all at once I saw a crowd, — A host of golden daffodils Beside the lake, beneath the trees, Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. [189] Continuous as the stars that shine And twinkle on the Milky Way, They stretched in never-ending line Along the margin of a bay: Ten thousand saw I, at a glance, Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. The waves beside them danced, but they Outdid the sparkh'ng waves in glee; A poet could not but be gay In such a jocund company; I gazed — and gazed — but Httle thought What wealth the show to me had brought. For oft, when on my couch I He, In vacant or in pensive mood. They flash upon that inward eye Which is the bliss of solitude; And then my heart with pleasure fills. And dances with the daffodils. THE WORLD The world is too much with us; late and soon, Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers : Little we see in Nature that is ours; We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon! This sea that bares her bosom to the moon; The winds that will be howHng at all hours Are all up-gathered now like sleeping flowers; 4> [190] For this, for everything, we are out of tune; It moves us not. Great God! I 'd rather be A pagan suckled in a creed outworn; So might I, standing on this pleasant lea. Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn, Have sight of Proteus coming from the sea, Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed»hom. [ 191 ] WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS AEDH TELLS OF THE ROSE IN HIS HEART All things uncomely and broken, all things worn out and old, The cry of a child by the roadway, the creak of a lumbering cart, The heavy steps of the ploughman, splashing the wintry mould. Are wronging your image that blossoms a rose in the deeps of my heart. The wrong of unshapely things is a wrong too great to be told; I hunger to build them anew and sit on a green knoll apart, With the earth and the sky and the water, remade, hke a casket of gold For my dreams of your image that blossoms a rose in the deeps of my heart. AEDH TELLS OF THE PERFECT BEAUTY O CLOUD-PALE eyelids, dream-dimmed eyes The poets laboring all their days To build a perfect beauty in rhyme Are overthrown by a woman's gaze [ 192 ] And by the unlaboring brood of the skies: And therefore my heart will bow, when dew Is dropping sleep, until God burn time, Before the unlaboring stars and you. AEDH WISHES FOR THE CLOTHS OF HEAVEN Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths, Enwrought with golden and silver light, The blue and the dim and the dark cloths Of night and light and the half-light, I would spread the cloths under your feet: But I, being poor, have only my dreams; I have spread my dreams under your feet; Tread softly because you tread on my dreams. AEDH WISHES HIS BELOVED WERE DEAD Were you but lying cold and dead, And lights were paling out of the West, You would come hither, and bend your head, And I would lay my head on your breast; And you would murmur tender words, Forgiving me, because you were dead: Nor would you rise and hasten away. Though you have the will of the wild birds. But know your hair was bound and wound About the stars and moon and sun: O would beloved that you lay [ 193] Under the dock-leaves in the ground, While lights were pahng one by one. AEDH LAMENTS THE LOSS OF LOVE Pale brows, still hands and dim hair, I had a beautiful friend And dreamed that the old despair Would end in love in the end: She looked in my heart one day And saw your image was there; She has gone weeping away. SONG FROM "THE LAND OF HEART'S DESIRE" The wind blows out of the gates of the day. The wind blows over the lonely of heart, And the lonely of heart is withered away While the faeries dance in a place apart, Shaking their milk-white feet in a ring. Tossing their milk-white arms in the air, For they hear the wind laugh and murmur and sing Of a land where even the old are fair And even the wise are merry of tongue; But I heard a reed of Coolaney say, "When the wind has laughed and murmured and sung The lonely of heart must wither away." [ 194] THE HEART OF THE WOMAN O WHAT to me the little room That was brimmed up with prayer and rest; He bade me out into the gloom, And my breast lies upon his breast. O what to me my mother's care, The house where I was safe and warm; The shadowy blossom of my hah* Will hide us from the bitter storm. hiding hair and dewy eyes, 1 am no more with hfe and death, My heart upon his warm heart lies. My breath is mixed into his breath. INDEX INDEX THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH Enamored Architect of Airy Rhyme 1 MATTHEW ARNOLD Dover Beach 2 Philomela 3 C. T. BATEMAN A Wind-Swept Sky 5 ARLO BATES The Pool of Sleep 6 WILLIAM BLAISE The Tiqer 7 FRANCIS WILLIAM BOURDILLON The Night has a Thousand Eyes 9 ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING Sonnets from the Portuguese When our Two Souls 10 How do I love thee? 10 ROBERT BROWNING Apparitions 12 "iChilde Roland to the Dark Tower came" .... 12 Dawn 21 Epilogue to Asolando 21 Love among the Ruins 22 Prospice 25 Time's Revenges 26 WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT Thanatopsis 29 ROBERT BUCHANAN When we are all asleep 32 JOHN MALCOLM BULLOCH To Homer 33 {198] ROBERT BURNS O MT LuvE 's LIKE A Red, Red Rose 34 To A Mouse 35 GEORGE GORDON, LORD BYRON Sonnet on Chillon 37 BLISS CARMAN The Sleepers 38 The Mote 39 GEOFFREY CHAUCER The Pbolooue 40 SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE KuBLA Khan 41 HENRY AUSTIN DOBSON For a Copt of Theocritus 43 ".Good Night, BabetteI" 44 ERNEST DOWSON Non sum qualis eram bonae sub reono Cynarae . . 47 MICHAEL DRAYTON A Partino 49 RALPH WALDO EMERSON Brahma 50 Character 50 Concord Hymn 61 Days 52 Forbearance 52 From 'IThe Problem" 52 The Rhodora 63 GEORGE ALLAN ENGLAND Remember 54 EUGENE FIELD Little Boy Blue 56 Wynken, Blynken, and Nod 57 EDMUND GOSSE By the Well 59 A Garden Piece 59 On a Lute found in a Sarcophagus 60 The Monad's Grave 61 Sestina 62 [ 199] THOMAS GRAY Eleoy written in a Country Churchyard .... 64 WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY Invicmus 70 Maroaritae Sorori 71 JAMES HOGG The Sky-Lark 72 OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES The Chambered Nautilus 73 The Last Leaf 74 RICHARD HOVEY Uni'oreseen 77 When the Priest left 77 WILLIAM DEAN HOWELLS The Mysteries 79 E. PAULINE JOHNSON Marshlands 80 BEN JONSON To Celia 81 JOHN KEATS Ode on a Grecian Urn 82 Ode to a Nightingale 84 On first looking into Chapman's Homer 87 On seeing the Elgin Marbles 87 The Terror of Death 88 ANDREW LANG The Odyssey 89 The Seekers for Ph^acia 89 Two Sonnets of the Sirens 91 CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE The Passionate Shepherd to his Love 92 PHILIP BOURKE MARSTON In Memoriam 94 THi^OPHILE MARZIALS To Tamaris 95 JOHN MILTON On his Blindness 96 I 200 ] THOMAS MOORE Oft in the Stilly Nioht 97 JOHN BOYLE O'REILLY A White Rose 99 JOHN PAYNE Rondel 100 EDGAR ALLAN POE To Helen 101 To One in Paeadise 101 ARTHUR STANLEY RIGGS Ave, AstbaI 103 CHARLES GEORGE DOUGLAS ROBERTS Maesyas 104 CHRISTINA ROSSETTI Remember 106 DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI The Blessed Damozel 107 A Match with the Moon 112 Body's Beauty 113 Broken Music 113 Death-in-Love 114 Heart's Haven 115 Known in Vain 115 On Refusal of Aid between Nations 116 The Lover's Walk 116 WiLLOWWOOD 117 Youth's Antiphony 119 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY A Fragment: To Music 121 Love's Philosophy 121 OZYMANDIAS OF EgYPT 122 The Cloud 122 Threnody 125 To the Skylark 126 To THE Night 130 EDWARD ROWLAND SILL Fulfillment 132 The Mystery 133 r 201 ] ROBERT LOUIS STE\Ti:NSON My Bed is like a Ijttle Boat 134 My Shadow 135 Requiem 136 ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE A Foksaken Garden 137 Choruses from "Atalanta in Calydon" 140 Hymn to Proserpine 150 Ode on the Proclamation of the French Republic, September 4, 1870 157 ARTHUR SYMONS An Ending 159 At Carbis Bay 159 At Dieppe 160 In Ireland By the Pool at the Third Rosses 160 By Lough-na-Gar: Green Light 161 The Reoret 162 The Fisher's Widow 162 The Cryino of Water 163 ALFRED LORD TENNYSON Break, break, break 164 Crossing the Bar 164 Tithonus 165 JAMES THOMPSON The City of Dreadful Night Proem 169 Section II 170 Section IV 172 A Requiem » ". . . . 176 WALT WHITMAN Out op the Cradle endlessly rocking 178 ".When Lilacs last in the Dooryard bloomed" . . 185 WILLIAM WORDSWORTH Westminster Bridge . . . v 188 Daffodils 188 The World 189 . [ 202 ] WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS Aedh tells of the Rose in his Heart 191 Aedh tells of the Perfect Beauty 191 Aedh wishes for the Cloths of Heaven 192 Aedh wishes his Beloved were dead 192 Aedh laments the Loss of Love 193 Song from ".The Land of Heart's Desire" .... 193 The Heart of the Woman 194 PRINTED BY H. O. HOUGHTON & CO. CAMBRIDGE, MASS. U.S.A. DEC 22 1906 Deacidified using the Bookkeeper proce Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide Treatment Date: Jan. 2009 PreservationTechnologk A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATI 111 Thomson Park Drive Cranberry Township, PA 1 6066 0A3 978B89 8