ï~~~~94 -iz ï~~Copyright, 1873, 1876, By T. B. ALDRICH. All rights reserved. SEVENTH EDITION. The Riverside Press, Cambridge: Electrotyped and Printed by H. O. Houghton & Co ï~~XXXVI LYRICS AND XII SONNETS. ï~~ ï~~TO L. A. Take them and keep them, Silvery thorn and flower, Plucked just at random In the rosy weatherSnowdrops and pansies, Sprigs of wayside heather, And five-leaved wild-rose Dead within an hour. Take them and keep them: Who can tell? some day, dear, (Though they be withered, Flower and thorn and blossom,), Held for an instant Up against thy bosom,. They might make December Seem to thee like May, dear.' 230741 ï~~I ï~~CONTENTS. PAGE Destiny...............II Hesperides............12 Identity..............3 Nocturne............14 The Sheik's Welcome....... 15 Palabras Carii'osas...........6 A Snow-Flake...........8 Across the Street..........19 Rencontre...............20 An Untimely Thought........21 Nameless Pain..........23 On an Intaglio Head of Minerva 24 The One White Rose.........27 The Queen's Ride..........28 Rococo............30 Dirge..............31 Before the Rain..........34 After the Rain..............35 The Unforgiven..........36 Love's Calendar..........38 ï~~viii CONTENTS. Latakia... A Winter-Piece. Tiger-Lilies... Piscataqua River. Quatrains... Lamia...... Amontillado... The Faded Violet. PAGE...... 39....... 4t...... 42....... 44....... 46 S.... 48 ~50....... 53....... 53 Ah sad are they who know not Love The King's Wine....... Castles........... Unsung........... An Old Castle........ The Flight of the Goddess... The World's Way....... Palinode.......... 55 56 58 6o 62 65 69 72 XII SONNETS.......... 75-93 ï~~LYRICS. I. DESTINY. Three roses, wan as moonlight and weighed down Each with its loveliness as with a crown, Drooped in a florist's window in a town. The first a lover bought. It lay at rest, Like flower on flower, that night, on Beauty's breast. The second rose, as virginal and fair, Shrunk in the tangles of a harlot's hair. The third, a widow, with new grief made wild, Shut in the icy palm of her dead child. ï~~12 XXX VI LYRICS. II. HESPERIDES. If thy soul, Herrick, dwelt with me, This is what my songs would be: Hints of our sea-breezes, blent With odors from the Orient; Indian vessels deep with spice; Star-showers from the Norland ice; Wine-red jewels that seem to hold Fire, but only burn with cold; Antique goblets, strangely wrought, Filled with the wine of happy thought; Bridal measures, vain regrets, Laburnum buds and violets; Uopeful as the break of day; Clear as crystal; new as May; Musical as brooks that run O'er yellow shallows in the sun; Soft as the satin fringe that shades The eyelids of thy fragrant maids; Brief as thy lyrics, Herrick, are, And polished as the bosom of a star. ï~~XXXVI LYRICS. 13 III. IDENTITY. Somewhere - in desolate wind-swept space - In Twilight-land-in No-man's-landTwo hurrying Shapes met face to face, And bade each other stand. "And who are you?" cried one, agape, Shuddering in the gloaming light. "I know not," said the second Shape, "I only died last night!" ï~~14 XXX VI LYRICS. IV. NOCTURNE. BELLAGGIO. Up to her chamber window A slight wire trellis goes, And up this Romeo's ladder Clambers a bold white rose. I lounge in the ilex shadows, I see the lady lean, Unclasping her silken girdle, The curtain's folds between. She smiles on her white-rose lover, She reaches out her hand And helps him in at the window - I see it where I stand! To her scarlet lip she holds him, And kisses him many a time - Ah, me! it was he that won her Because he dared to climb! ï~~XXX VI LYRICS. 15 V. THE SHEIK'S WELCOME. Because thou com'st, a weary guest, Unto my tent, I bid thee rest. This cruse of oil, this skin of wine, These tamarinds and dates, are thine; And whilst thou eatest, Medjid, there, Shall bathe the heated nostrils of thy mare. Allah il' Allah! Even so An Arab chieftain treats a foe, Holds him as one without a fault Who breaks his bread and tastes his salt; And, in fair battle, strikes him dead With the same pleasure that he gives him bread! ï~~1 6 XXX VI LYRICS. VI. PALABRAS CARI~OSAS. SPANISH AIR. Good-night! I have to say good-night To such a host of peerless things! Good-night unto that fragile hand All queenly with its weight of rings; Good-night to fond, uplifted eyes, Good-night to chestnut braids of hair, Good-night unto the perfect mouth, And all the sweetness nestled there - The snowy hand detains me, then I 'll have to say good-night again! But there will come a time, my love, When, if I read our stars aright, I shall not linger by this porch With my adieus. Till then, good-night! You wish the time were now? And I. You do not blush to wish it so? You would have blushed yourself to death ï~~XXXVI LYRICS. I 7 To own so much a year ago - What, both these snowy hands! ah, then, I 'll have to say good-night again! 2 ï~~18 XXX VI LYRICS. VII. A SNOW-FLAKE. Once he sang of summer, Nothing but the summer; Now he sings of winter, Of winter bleak and drear: Just because there's fallen A snow-flake on his forehead, He must go and fancy 'T is winter all the year! ï~~XXX VI L YRICS. 19 VIII.. ACROSS THE STREET. With lash on cheek, she comes and goes; I watch her when she little knows: I wonder if she dreams of it. Sitting and working at my rhymes, I weave into, my verse at times Her sunny hair, or gleams of it. Upon her window-ledge is. set A box of flowering mignonette; Morning and eve she tends to them - The senseless flowers, that do not care About that loosened strand of hair, As prettily she bends to them. If I could once contrive to get Into that box of mignonette Some morning when she tends to> them - She comes! I see the rich blood rise From throat to cheek! -down go the eyes, Demurely, as she bends to them I ï~~2 o XXX VI LYRICS. IX. RENCONTRE. Toiling across the Mer de Glace, I thought of, longed for thee; What miles between us stretched, alas! What miles of land and sea! My foe, undreamed of, at my side Stood suddenly, like Fate. For those who love, the world is wide, But not for those who hate. ï~~XXXVI LYRICS. 2 1 x. AN UNTIMELY THOUGHT. I wonder what day of the week - I wonder what month of the year - Will it be midnight, or morning, And who will bend over my bier? - What a hideous fancy to come As I wait, at the foot of the stair, While Lilian gives the last touch To her robe, or the rose in her hair. Do I like your new dress -pompadour? And do I like you? On my life, You are eighteen, and not a day more, And have not been six years my wife. Those two rosy boys in the crib Up stairs are not ours, to be sure! - You are just a sweet bride in her bloom, All sunshine, and snowy, and pure. ï~~22 XXXVI LYRICS. As the carriage rolls down the dark street The little wife laughs and makes cheer; Bt... I wonder what day of the week, I wonder what month of the year. ï~~XXX VI LYRICS. 23 XI. NAMELESS PAIN. In my nostrils the summer wind Blows the exquisite scent of the rose! O for the golden, golden wind, Breaking the buds as it goes, Breaking the buds, and bending the grass, And spilling the scent of the rose! O wind of the summer morn, Tearing the petals in twain, Wafting the fragrant soul Of the rose through valley and plain, I would you could tear my heart to-day, And scatter its nameless pain. ï~~24 XXXVI LYRICS. XII. ON AN INTAGLIO HEAD OF MINERVA. Beneath the warrior's helm, behold The flowing tresses of the woman! Minerva, Pallas, what you will - A winsome creature, Greek or Roman. Minerva? No, 't is some sly minx In cousin's helmet masquerading; If not - then Wisdom was a dame For sonnets and for serenading! I thought the goddess cold, austere, Not made for love's despairs and blisses: Did Pallas wear her hair like that? Was Wisdom's mouth so shaped for kisses? The Nightingale should be her bird, And not the Owl, big-eyed and solemn: How very fresh she looks, and yet She 's older far than Trajan's Column! ï~~XXXVI LYRICS. 25 The magic hand that carved this face, And set this vine-work round it running, Perhaps ere mighty Phidias wrought Had lost its subtle skill and cunning. Who was he? Was he glad or sad, Who knew to carve in such a fashion? Perchance he graved the dainty head For some brown girl that scorned his passion. Perchance, in some still garden-place, Where neither fount nor tree to-day is, He flung the jewel at the feet Of Phryne, or perhaps 't was LaYs. But he is dust; we may not know His happy or unhappy story: Nameless, and dead these centuries, His work outlives him - there 's his glory! Both man and jewel lay in earth Beneath a lava-buried city; The countless summers came and went With neither haste, nor hate, nor pity. ï~~26 XXX VI LYRICS. Years blotted out the man, but left The jewel fresh as any blossom, Till some Visconti dug it up - To rise and fall on Mabel's bosom! O nameless brother! see how Time Your gracious handiwork has guarded: See how your loving, patient art Has come, at last, to be rewarded. Who would not suffer slights of men, And pangs of hopeless passion also, To have his carven agate-stone On such a bosom rise and fall so! ï~~XXXVI LYRICS. 27 XIII. THE ONE WHITE ROSE. A sorrowful woman said to me, " Come in and look on our child." I saw an Angel at shut of day, And it never spoke - but smiled. I think of it in the city's streets, I dream of it when I rest - The violet eyes, the waxen hands, And the one white rose on the breast! ï~~28 XXX VI LYRICS. XIV. THE QUEEN'S RIDE. AN INVITATION. 'T is that fair time of year, Lady mine, When stately Guinevere, In her sea-green robe and hood, Went a-riding through the wood, Lady mine. And as the Queen did ride, Lady mine, Sir Launcelot at her side Laughed and chatted, bending over, Half her friend and all her lover! Lady mine. And as they rode along, Lady mine, The throstle gave them song, And the buds peeped through the grass To see youth and beauty pass! Lady mine. ï~~XXXVI LYRICS. 29 And on, through deathless time, Lady mine, These lovers in their prime, (Two fairy ghosts together!) Ride, with sea-green robe, and feather! Lady mine. And so we two will ride, Lady mine, At your pleasure, side by side, Laugh and chat; I bending over, Half your friend and all your lover! Lady mine. But if you like not this, Lady mine, And take my love amiss, Then I 'll ride unto the end, Half your lover, all your friend! Lady mine. So, come which way you will, Lady mine, Vale, upland, plain, and hill Wait your coming. For one day Loose the bridle, and away! Lady mine. ï~~30o XXXVI L YRICS xv. ROCOCO. By studying my lady's eyes I 've grown so learned day by day, So Machiavelian in this wise, That when I send her flowers, I say To each small flower (no matter what, Geranium, pink, or tuberose, Syringa, or forget-me-not, Or violet) before it goes: " Be not triumphant, little flower, When on her haughty heart you lie, But modestly enjoy your hour: She '11 weary of you by and by." ï~~XXX VI L YRICS. 31 XVI. DIRGE. Let us keep him warm, Stir the dying fire: Upon his tired arm Slumbers young Desire. Soon, ah, very soon We too shall not know Either sun or moon, Either grass or snow. Others in our place Come to laugh and weep, Win or lose the race, And to fall asleep. Let us keep him warm, Stir the dying fire: Upon his tired arm Slumbers young Desire. ï~~32 XXXVI LYRICS. What does all avail - Love, or power, or gold? Life is like a tale Ended ere 't is told. Much is left unsaid, Much is said in vain - Shall the broken thread Be taken up again? Let us keep him warm, Stir the dying fire Upon his tired arm Slumbers young Desire. Kisses one or two On his eyelids set, That, when all is through, lie may not forget. He has far to go - Is it East or West? Whither? Who may know! Let him take his rest. Wind, and snow, and sleet - So the long night dies. ï~~XXX VI L YRICS. 33 Draw the winding-sheet, Cover up his eyes. Let us keep him warm, Stir the dying fire: Upon his tired arm Slumbers young Desire. ï~~3 4 XXX VI LYRICS. XVII. BEFORE THE RAIN. We knew it would rain, for all the morn, A spirit on slender ropes of mist Was lowering its golden buckets down Into the vapory amethyst Of marshes and swamps and dismal fens - Scooping the dew that lay in the flowers, Dipping the jewels out of the sea, To sprinkle them over the land in showers. We knew it would rain, for the poplars showed The white of their leaves, the amber grain Shrunk in the wind - and the lightning now Is tangled in tremulous skeins of rain! ï~~XXX VI LYRICS. 35: XVIII. AFTER THE RAIN. The rain has ceased, and in my room The sunshine pours an airy flood; And on the church's dizzy vane The ancient Cross is bathed in blood. From out the dripping ivy-leaves, Antiquely-carven, gray and high, A dormer, facing westward, looks Upon the village like an eye: And now it glimmers in the sun, A globe of gold, a disc, a speck: And in the belfry sits a Dove With purple ripples on her neck. ï~~36 XXXVI LYRICS. XIX. THE UNFORGIVEN. Near my bed, there, hangs the picture jewels could not buy from me: 'T is a Siren, a brown Siren, in her seaweed drapery, Playing on a lute of amber, by the margin of a sea. In the east, the rose of morning seems as if 't would blossom soon, But it never, never blossoms, in this picture; and the moon Never ceases to be crescent, and the June is always June! And the heavy-branched banana never yields its creamy fruit; In the citron-trees are nightingales forever stricken mute; And the Siren sits, her fingers on the pulses of the lute. ï~~XXX VI LYRICS. 37 In the hushes of the midnight, when the heliotropes grow strong With the dampness, I hear music - hear a quiet, plaintive song - A most sad, melodious utterance, as of some immortal wrong - Like the pleading, oft repeated, of a Soul that pleads in vain, Of a damned Soul repentant, that would fain be pure again I - And I lie awake and listen to the music of her pain! And whence comes this mournful music? - whence, unless it chance to be From the Siren, the brown Siren, in her sea-weed drapery, Playing on a lute of amber, by the margin of a sea! ï~~38 XXX VI LYRICS. xx. LOVE'S CALENDAR. The Summer comes and the Summer goes; Wild-flowers are fringing the dusty lanes, The swallows go darting through fragrant rains, Then, all of a sudden - it snows. Dear Heart, our lives so happily flow, So lightly we heed the flying hours, We only know Winter is gone - by the flowers, We only know Winter is come -- by the snow. ï~~XXX VI LYRICS. 39 XXI. LATAKIA. When all the panes are hung with frost, Wild wizard-work of silver lace, I draw my sofa on the rug Before the ancient chimney-place. Upon the painted tiles are mosques And minarets, and here and there A blind muezzin lifts his hands And calls the faithful unto prayer. Folded in idle, twilight dreams, I hear the hemlock chirp and sing As if within its ruddy core It held the happy heart of Spring. Ferdousi never sang like that, Nor Saadi grave, nor Hafiz gay: I lounge, and blow white rings of smoke, And watch them rise and float away. The curling wreaths like turbans seem Of silent slaves that come and go - ï~~40 XXXVI L YRICS. Or Viziers, packed with craft and crime, Whom I behead from time to time, With pipe-stem, at a single blow. And now and then a lingering cloud Takes gracious form at my desire, And at my side my lady stands, Unwinds her veil with snowy hands - A shadowy shape, a breath of fire! O Love, if you were only here Beside me in this mellow light, Though all the bitter winds should blow, And all the ways be choked with snow, 'T would be a true Arabian night! ï~~XXX VI LYRICS. 41 XXII. A WINTER-PIECE. Sous le voile qui vous prot6ge, Defiant les regards jaloux, Si vous sortez par cette neige, Redoutez vos pieds andalous. THEOPHILE GAUTIER. Beneath the heavy veil you wear, Shielded from jealous eyes you go; But of your pretty feet have care If you should venture through the snow. Howe'er you tread, a dainty mould Betrays that light foot all the same; Upon this glistening snowy fold At every step it signs your name. Thus guided, one might come too close Upon the slyly-hidden nest Where Psyche, with her cheek's cold rose, On Love's warm bosom lies at rest. ï~~42 XXXVI LYRICS. XXIII. TIGER LILIES. I like not lady-slippers, Nor yet the sweet-pea blossoms, Not yet the flaky roses, Red, or white as snow; I like the chaliced lilies, The heavy Eastern lilies, The gorgeous tiger-lilies, That in our garden grow! For they are tall and slender; Their mouths are dashed with carmine, And when the wind sweeps by them, On their emerald stalks They bend so proud and graceful They are Circassian women, The favorites of the Sultan, Adown our garden walks! And when the rain is falling, I sit beside the window And watch them glow and glisten, How they burn and glow I ï~~XXX VI LYRICS. 43 O for the burning lilies, The tender Eastern lilies, The gorgeous tiger-lilies, That in our garden grow! ï~~44 XXXVI LYRICS. XXIV. PISCATAQUA RIVER. Thou singest by the gleaming isles, By woods and fields of corn, Thou singest, and the heaven smiles Upon my birthday morn. But I within a city, I, So full of vague unrest, Would almost give my life to lie An hour upon thy breast; To let the wherry listless go, And, wrapt in dreamy joy, Dip, and surge idly to and fro, Like the red lharbor-buoy! To sit in happy indolence, To rest upon the oars, And catch the heavy earthy scents That blow from summer shores: To see the rounded sun go down, And with its parting fires ï~~XXXV I LYRICS. 45 Light up the windows of the town And burn the tapering spires: And then to hear the muffled tolls From steeples slim and white, And watch, among the Isles of Shoals, The Beacon's orange light. O River! flowing to the main Through woods and fields of corn, Hear thou my longing and my pain This sunny birthday morn: And take this song which sorrow shapes To music like thine own, And sing it to the cliffs and capes And crags where I am known! ï~~46 XXX VI LYRICS. xxv. QUATRAINS. Masks. Black Tragedy lets slip her grim disguise And shows you laughing lips and roguish eyes; But when, unmasked, gay Comedy appears, How wan her cheeks are, and what heavy tears! The Rose. Fixed to her necklace, like another gem, A rose she wore - the flower June made for her: Fairer it looked than when upon the stem, And must, indeed, have been much happier. The Parce. In their dark House of Cloud The three weird sisters toil till time be sped; ï~~XXXVI LYRICS 47 One unwinds life; one ever weaves the shroud; One waits to cut the thread. Grace and Strength. Manoah's son, in his blind rage malign Tumbling the temple down upon his foes, Did no such feat as yonder delicate vine That day by day untired holds up a rose. Pofiularity. Such kings of shreds have wooed and won her, Such crafty knaves her laurel owned, It has become almost an honor Not to be crowned. Mafale Leaves. October turned my maple's leaves to gold; The most are gone now; here and there one lingers: Soon these will slip from out the twigs' weak hold, Like coins between a dying miser's fingers. ï~~48 XXXVI LYRICS. XXVI. LAMIA. "Go on your way, and let me pass. You stop a wild despair..I would that I were turned to brass Like that chained lion there, "Which, couchant by the postern gate, In weather foul or fair, Looks down serenely desolate, And nothing does but stare! "Ah, what's to me the burgeoned year, The sad leaf or the gay? Let Launcelot and Queen Guinevere Their falcons fly this day. "'T will be as royal sport, pardie, As falconers have tried At Astolat - but let me be! I would that I had died. "I met a woman in the glade: Her hair was soft and brown, ï~~XXX VI LYRICS. 49 And long bent silken lashes weighed Her ivory eyelids down. " I kissed her hand, I called her blest, I held her leal and fairShe turned to shadow on my breast, And melted in the air! "And, lo! about me, fold on fold, A writhing serpent hung - An eye of jet, a skin of gold, A garnet for a tongue! " O, let the petted falcons fly Right merry in the sun; But let me be! for I shall die Before the year is done." ï~~5 0o XXX VI LYRICS. XXVII. AMONTILLADO. VINTAGE, 1826. Rafters black with smoke, White with sand the floor is, Twenty whiskered Dons Calling to Dolores - Tawny flower of Spain, Wild-rose of Granada, Keeper of the wines In this old posada. Hither, light-of-foot, Dolores, Hebe, Circe! - Pretty Spanish girl, With not a bit of mercy! Here I'm sad and sick, Faint and thirsty very, And she does n't bring The Amontillado Sherry! Thank you. Breath of June! Now my heart beats free, ah! ï~~XXXVI I YRICS. Kisses for your hand, Amigita mia! You shall live in song, Ripe and warm and cheery, Mellowing with years, Like Amontillado Sherry. Evil spirits, fly! Care, begone, blue dragon! Only shapes of joy Are sculptured on the flagon: Lyrics - repartees - Kisses- all that's merry, Rise to touch the lip In Amontillado Sherry! Here be worth and wealth, And love, the arch enchanter; Here the golden blood Of saints in this decanter! When old Charon comes To row me o'er his ferry, I 'll bribe him with a case Of Amontillado Sherry! While the earth spins round. And the stars lean over, 5 ' ï~~52 XXXVI LYRICS. May this amber sprite Never lack a lover. Blessed be the man Who lured her from the berry, And blest the girl who brings The Amontillado Sherry. What! the flagon's dry? Hark, old Time's confessionBoth hands crost at XII, Owning his transgression! Pray, old monk! for all Generous souls and merry, May they have their fill Of Amontillado Sherry! ï~~XXX VI LYRICS. 53 XXVIII. THE FADED VIOLET. What thought is folded in thy leaves! What tender thought, what speechless pain! I hold thy faded lips to mine, Thou darling of the April rain! I hold thy faded lips to mine, Though scent and azure tint are fled - O dry, mute lips! ye are the type Of something in me cold and dead: Of something wilted like thy leaves; Of fragrance flown, of beauty dim; Yet, for the love of those white hands That found thee by a river's brim - That found thee when thy dewy mouth Was purpled as with stains of wine - For love of her who love forgot, I hold thy faded lips to mine. ï~~54 XXXVI LYRICS. That thou shouldst live when I am dead, When hate is dead, for me, and wrong, For this, I use my subtlest art, For this, I fold thee in my song. ï~~XXXVI LYRICS. 55 XXIX. "AH SAD ARE THEY WHO KNOW NOT LOVE." Ah, sad are they who know not love, But, far from passion's tears and smiles, Drift down a moonless sea, beyond The silvery coasts of fairy isles. And sadder they whose longing lips Kiss empty air, and never touch The dear warm mouth of those they love - Waiting, wasting, suffering much. But clear as amber, fine as musk, Is life to those who, pilgrim-wise, Move hand in hand from dawn to dusk, Each morning nearer Paradise. O, not for them shall angels pray! They stand in everlasting light, They walk in Allah's smile by day, And nestle in his heart by night. ï~~56 XXXVI LYRICS. xxx. THE KING'S WINE. The small green grapes in countless clusters grew, Feeding on mystic moonlight and white dew, And mellow sunshine, the long summer through: Till, with faint tremor in her veins, the Vine Felt the delicious pulses of the wine; And the grapes ripened in the year's decline. And day by day the Virgins watched their charge; And when, at last, beyond the horizon's marge, The harvest-moon droopt beautiful and large, ï~~XXX VI L YRICS. 57 The subtile spirit in the grape was caught, And to the slowly-dying Monarch brought In a great cup fantastically wrought. Of this he drank; then straightway from his brain Went the weird malady, and once again He walked the Palace, free of scar or pain - But strangely changed, for somehow he had lost Body and voice: the courtiers, as he crossed The royal chambers, whispered - The King's ghost! ï~~58 XXXVI LYRICS. XXXI. CASTLES. There is a picture in my brain That only fades to come again - The sunlight, through a veil of rain To leeward, gilding A narrow stretch of brown sea-sand, A light-house half a league from land, And two young lovers, hand in hand, A castle-building. Upon the budded apple-trees The robins sing by twos and threes, And ever at the faintest breeze Down drops a blossom; And ever would that lover be The wind that robs the burgeoned tree, And lifts the soft tress daintily On Beauty's bosom. Ah, graybeard, what a happy thing It was, when life was in its spring, To peep through love's betrothal ring At Fields Elysian, ï~~XXXVI LYRICS. 59 To move and breathe in magic air, To think that all that seems is fair - Ah, ripe young mouth and golden hair, Thou pretty vision! Well, well, I think not on these two But the old wound breaks out anew, And the old dream, as if 't were true, In my heart nestles; Then tears come welling to my eyes, For yonder, all in saintly guise, As 't were, a sweet dead woman lies Upon the trestles! ï~~6o XXXVI LYRICS. XXXII. UNSUNG. As sweet as the breath that goes From the lips of the white rose, As weird as the elfin lights That glimmer of frosty nights, As wild as the winds that tear The curled red leaf in the air, Is the song I have never sung. In slumber, a hundred times I have said the mystic rhymes, But ere I open my eyes 'This ghost of a poem flies; Of the interfluent strains Not even a note remains: I know by my pulses' beat It was something wild and sweet, And my heart is strangely stirred By an unremembered word! I strive, but I strive in vain, To recall the lost refrain. ï~~XXX VI L YRICS 6r On some miraculous day Perhaps it will come and stay; In some unimagined Spring I may find my voice, and sing The song I have never sung. ï~~62 XXX VI L YRICS. XXXIII. AN OLD CASTLE. The gray arch crumbles, And totters, and tumbles; The bat has built in the banquet hall: In the donjon-keep Sly mosses creep; The ivy has scaled the southern wall. No man-at-arms Sounds quick alarms A-top of the cracked martello tower; The drawbridge-chain Is broken in twain - The bridge will neither rise nor lower. Not any manner Of broidered banner Flaunts at a blazoned herald's call. Lilies float In the stagnant moat; And fair they are, and tall. Here, in the old Forgotten springs, ï~~XXXVI LYRICS. 63 Was wassail held by queens and kings; Here at the board Sat clown and lord, Maiden fair and lover bold, Baron fat and minstrel lean, The prince with his stars, The knight with his scars, The priest in his gabardine. Where is she Of the fleur-de-lys, And that true knight who wore her gages? Where are the glances That bred wild fancies In curly heads of my lady's pages? Where are those Who, in steel or hose, Held revel here, and made them gay? Where is the laughter That shook the rafter - Where is the rafter, by the way? Gone is the roof, And perched aloof Is an owl, like a friar of Orders Gray. (Perhaps 't is the priest Come back to feast ï~~64 XXX VI LYRICS. He had ever a tobth for capon, he! But the capon's cold, And the steward's old, And the butler's lost the larder-key!) The doughty lords Sleep the sleep of swords. Dead are the dames and damozels. The King in his crown Hath laid him down, And the Jester with his bells. All is dead here: Poppies are red here, Vines in my lady's chamber grow - If 't was her chamber Where they clamber Up from the poisonous weeds below. All is dead here, Joy is fled here; Let us hence. 'T is the end of allThe gray arch crumbles, And totters, and tumbles, And Silence sits in the banquet hall. ï~~XXXVI LYRICS. 65 XXXIV. THE FLIGHT OF THE GODDESS. A man should live in a garret aloof, And have few friends, and go poorly clad, With an old hat stopping the chink in the roof, To keep the Goddess constant and glad. Of old, when I walked on a rugged way, And gave much work for but little bread, The Goddess dwelt with me night and day, Sat at my table, haunted my bed. The narrow, mean attic, I see it now! - Its window o'erlooking the city's tiles, The sunset's fires, and the clouds of snow, And the river wandering miles and miles. 5 ï~~66 XXXVI LYRICS Just one picture hung in the room, The saddest story that Art can tell - Dante and Virgil in lurid gloom Watching the Lovers float through Hell. Wretched enough was I sometimes, Pinched, and harassed with vain desires; But thicker than clover sprung the rhymes As I dwelt like a sparrow among the spires. Midnight filled my slumbers with song; Music haunted my dreams by day: Now I listen and wait and long, But the Delphian airs have died away. I wonder and wonder how it befell: Suddenly I had friends in crowds; I bade the house-tops a long farewell; "Good by," I cried, "to the stars and clouds! "But thou, rare soul, that hast dwelt with me, Spirit of Poesy! thou divine ï~~XXX VI LYRICS. 67 Breath of the morning, thou shalt be, Goddess! for ever and ever mine." And the woman I loved was now my bride, And the house I wanted was my own; I turned to the Goddess satisfied - But the Goddess had somehow flown! Flown, and I fear she will never return: I am much too sleek and happy for her, Whose lovers must hunger, and waste, and burn, Ere the beautiful heathen heart will stir. I call- but she does not stoop to my cry; I wait-but she lingers, and ah! so long! It was not so in the years gone by, When she touched my lips with chrism of song. I swear I will get me a garret again, And adore, like a Parsee, the sunset's fires, And lure the Goddess, by vigil and pain, Up with the sparrows among the spires. ï~~68 XXXVI LYR ICS. For a man should live in a garret aloof, And have few friends, and go poorly clad, With an old hat stopping the chink in the roof, To keep the Goddess constant and glad. ï~~XXXVI L YRICS. 69, xxxv. THE WORLD'S WAY. At Haroun's court it chanced, upon a time, An Arab poet made this pleasant rhyme: "The new moon is a horseshoe, wrought of God, Wherewith the Sultan's stallion shall be shod." On hearing this, his highness smiled, and gave The man a gold-piece. Sing again, 0 slave! Above his lute the happy singer bent, And turned another gracious compliment. And, as before, the smiling Sultan gave The man a sekkah. Sing again, 0' slave! ï~~70o XXXVI LYRICS. Again the verse came, fluent as a rill That wanders, silver-footed, down a hill. The Sultan, listening, nodded as before, Still gave the gold, and still demanded more. The nimble fancy that had climbed so high Grew weary with its climbing by and by: Strange discords rose: the sense went quite amiss; The singer's rhymes refused to meet and kiss: Invention flagged, the lute had got unstrung, And twice he sang the song already sung. The Sultan, furious, called a mute, and said, O Musta, straightway whif me off his head! ï~~XXX VIT LYRICS. 7 I Poets! not in Arabia alone You get beheaded when your skill is gone. ï~~72 XXXVI LYRICS. XXXVI. PALINODE. When I was young and light of heart I made sad songs with easy art: Now I am sad, and no more young, My sorrow cannot find a tongue. Pray, Muses, since I may not sing Of Death or any grievous thing, Teach me some joyous strain, that I May mock my youth's hypocrisy! ï~~XII SONNETS. ï~~ ï~~SONNETS. I. " EVEN THIS WILL PASS AWAY." Touched with the delicate green of early May, Or later, when the rose unveils her face, The world hangs glittering in starstrown space, Fresh as a jewel found but yesterday. And yet 't is very old; what tongue may say How old it is? Race follows upon race. Forgetting and forgotten; in their place Sink tower and temple; nothing long may stay. We build on tombs, and live our day, and die; From out our dust new towers and temples start; Our very name becomes a mystery. ï~~'76 XII SONNE TS. What cities no man ever heard of lie Under the glacier, in the mountain's heart, In violet glooms beneath the moaning sea! ï~~XII SONNETS. 77 II. AT STRATFORD-UPON-AVON. Thus spake his dust (so seemed it as I read The words): Good frend, for Jesvs' sake forbeare (Poor ghost!) To digg the dvst enclosd -heare - Then came the malediction on the head Of who so dare disturb the sacred dead. Outside the mavis whistled strong and clear And, touched with the sweet glamour of the year, The winding Avon murmured in its bed. But in the solemn Stratford church the air Was chill and dank, and on the footworn tomb The evening shadows deepened momently: Then a great awe crept on me, standing there, ï~~78 XII SONNETS. As if some speechless Presence in the gloom Was hovering, and fain would speak with me. ï~~XII SONNETS. 79 III. EGYPT. Fantastic Sleep is busy with my eyes: I seem in some waste solitude to stand Once ruled of Cheops: upon either hand A dark illimitable desert lies, Sultry and still - a realm of mysteries: A wide-browed Sphinx, half buried in the sand, With orbless sockets stares across the land, The woefulest thing beneath these brooding skies Where all is woful, weird-lit vacancy. 'T is neither midnight, twilight, nor moonrise. Lo! while I gaze, beyond the vast sandsea The nebulous clouds are downward slowly drawn, And one bleared star, faint-glimmering like a bee, Is shut in the rosy outstretched hand of Dawn. ï~~80 XII SONNETS. IV. ENAMORED ARCHITECT OF AIRY RHYME. Enamored architect of airy rhyme, Build as thou wilt; heed not what each man says. Good souls, but innocent of dreamers' ways, Will come, and marvel why thou wastest time; Others, beholding how thy turrets climb 'Twixt theirs and heaven, will hate thee all their days; But most beware of those who come to praise. O Wondersmith, O worker in sublime And heaven-sent dreams, let art be all in all; Build as thou wilt, unspoiled by praise or blame, Build as thou wilt, and as thy light is given: Then, if at last the airy structure fall, ï~~XII SONNETS. 8 I Dissolve, and vanish - take thyself no shame. They fail, and they alone, who have not striven. 6 ï~~82 XII SONNETS. V. HENRY HOWARD BROWNELL. They never crowned him, never knew his worth, But let him go unlaureled to the grave: Hereafter there are guerdons for the brave, Roses for martyrs who wear thorns on earth, Balms for bruised hearts that languish in the dearth Of human love. So let the lilies wave Above him, nameless. Little did he crave Men's praises. Modestly, with kindly mirth, Not sad nor bitter, he accepted fate - Drank deep of life, knew books, and hearts of men, Cities and camps, and war's immortal woe, Yet bore through all (such virtue in him sate His Spirit is not whiter now than then!) A simple, loyal nature, pure as snow. ï~~XII SONNETS. 83 Vi. BARBERRIES. In scarlet clusters o'er the gray stonewall The barberries lean in thin autumnal air: Just when the fields and garden-plots are bare, And ere the green leaf takes the tint of fall, They come, to make the eye a festival! Along the road, for miles, their torches flare. Ah, if your deep-sea coral were but rare (The damask rose might envy it withal), What bards had sung your praises long ago, Called you fine names in honey-worded books - The rosy tramps of turnpike and of lane, September's blushes, Ceres' lips aglow, Little-Red-Ridinghoods, for your sweet looks! - But your plebeian beauty is in vain. ï~~84 XII SONNETS. VII. THE LORELEI. Yonder we see it from the steamer's deck, The haunted Mountain of the Lorelei - The o'erhanging crags sharp-cut against a sky Clear as a sapphire without flaw or fleck. 'T was here the Siren lay in wait to wreck The fisher-lad. At dusk, as he passed by, Perchance he 'd hear her tender, amorous sigh, And, seeing the wondrous whiteness of her neck, Perchance would halt, and lean towards the shore; Then she by that soft magic which she had Would lure him, and in gossamers of her hair, Gold upon gold, would wrap him o er and o'er, ï~~XII S ONNETS. S 5 Wrap him, and sing to him, and set him mad, Then drag him down to no man knoweth where. ï~~86 XII SONNETS. VIII. TO L. T. IN FLORENCE. You by the Arno shape your marble dream, Under the cypress and the olive trees, While I, this side the wild, wind-beaten seas, Unrestful by the Charles's placid stream, Long once again to catch the golden gleam Of Brunelleschi's dome, and lounge at ease In those pleached gardens and fair galleries. And yet, perhaps, you envy me, and deem My star the happier, since it holds me here. Even so, one time, beneath the cypresses My heart turned longingly across the sea, ï~~XII SONNETS. 87 Aching with love for thee, New England dear! I would have given all Titian's goddesses For one poor cowslip or anemone. ï~~88 XII SONNETS. IX. PURSUIT AND POSSESSION. When I behold what pleasure is Pursuit, What life, what glorious eagerness it is; Then mark how full Possession falls from this, How fairer seems the blossom than the fruitI am perplext, and often stricken mute Wondering which attained the higher bliss, The wingdd insect, or the chrysalis It thrust aside with unreluctant foot. Spirit of verse that still elud'st my art, Thou airy phantom that dost ever haunt me, O never, never rest upon my heart, If when I have thee I shall little want thee! Still flit away in moonlight, rain, and dew, Wills-o'-the-wisp, that I may still pursue! ï~~XII SONNETS. 89 x. THREE FLOWERS. Herewith I send you three pressed withered flowers: This one was white, with golden star; this, blue As Capri's cave; that, purple and shot through With sunset-orange. Where the Duomo towers In diamond air, and under hanging bowers The Arno glides, this faded violet grew On Landor's grave; from Landor's heart it drew Its magic azure in the long spring hours. Within the shadow of the Pyramid Of Caius Cestius was the daisy found, White as the soul of Keats in Paradise. The pansy - there were hundreds of them, hid ï~~9o XII SONNE TS. In the thick grass that folded Shelley's mound, Guarding his ashes with most lovely eyes. ï~~XII SONNETS. 9r XI. AT BAY RIDGE, LONG ISLAND. Pleasant it is to lie amid the grass Under these shady locusts, half the day, Watching the ships reflected on the Bay, Topmast and shroud, as in a wizard's glass: To see the happy-hearted martins pass, Brushing the dewdrops from the lilac spray: Or else to hang enamored o'er some lay Of fairy regions: or to muse, alas! On Dante, exiled, journeying outworn; On patient Milton's sorrowfulest eyes Shut from the splendors of the Night and Morn: To think that now, beneath the Italian. skies, In such clear air as this, by Tiber's wave, Daisies are trembling over Keats's grave. ï~~9 2 XII SONNE TS. XII. SLEEP. When to soft Sleep we give ourselves away, And in a dream as in a fairy bark Drift on and on through the enchanted dark To purple daybreak - little thought we pay To that sweet bitter world we know by day. We are clean quit of it, as is a lark So high in heaven no human eye may mark The thin swift pinion cleaving through the gray. Till we awake ill fate can do no ill, The resting heart shall not take up again The heavy load that yet must make it bleed; ï~~XII SONNETS. 9 3 For this brief space the loud world's voice is still, No faintest echo of it brings us pain. How will it be when we shall sleep indeed? ï~~