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A la.s.s from the woods With a leaf in her hair!
And the rain of the night And the wind of the morn, They both quivered right; For my spirit forlorn In a garment of white And a laugh newly born Sprang in maddest of moods Like a blossom in air To the kiss of the sun And the curl of the breeze, Caught the cobwebs begun In the hush of the trees All my beatings were one With the swirl of the seas.
Dead the creature that broods In a tangle of care; There's a la.s.s from the woods With a leaf in her hair.
WAS THERE ANOTHER SPRING
Was there another Spring than this?
I half remember through the haze Of glimmering nights and golden days, A broken pinioned birdling's note, An angry sky, a sea-wrecked boat, A wandering through rain-beaten ways!
Lean closer, love--I have thy kiss!
Was there another Spring than this?
TO DIANE
The ruddy poppies bend and bow Diane! do you remember?
The sun you knew s.h.i.+nes proudly now The lake still lists the breezes' vow; Your towers are fairer for their stains, Each stone you smiled upon remains.
Sing low, where is Diane?
Diane do you remember?
I come to find you through the years-- Diane! do you remember?
For none may rule my love's soft fears.
The ladies now are not your peers, I seek you thro' your tarnished halls, Pale sorrow on my spirit falls High, low--where is Diane?
Diane do you remember?
I crush the poppies where I tread-- Diane! do you remember?
Your flower of life--so bright, so red-- She does not hear--Diane is dead.
I pace the sunny bowers alone Where nought of her remains but stone.
Sing low--where is Diane?
Diane does not remember.
BIRD LOVE-- ROSE LOVE
If you were but a rose--dear love-- And I your bird, with dip of wing To tell a promise of the Spring And with a golden swift caress My happy careless love confess, No pain such gentle vows could bring, No tears should stay my flight above, If you were but a rose--dear love.
Bird-love, rose-love, to last the day Why shall not we whose hearts are light Put by the coming of the night, Catch glints of rapture from the sky, The scents that swing where lilies lie, And ring them to a garland white To ease the pain of life away?
Bird-love, rose-love, to last the day!
THE JOY OF LIFE
Her hair was twined with vine leaves thro' the gold, The leopard skin about her shoulders flung Showed gleams of her as marble--fair and cold; I breathed not--listening to the song she sung.
Hither and thither thro' the solemn world, Glory of purple, pa.s.sionate blazing red Glints thro' the gloom, and thro' the grey is swirled-- Ah! but the leaves twined sweet about her head.
"Heedless--men pa.s.s me in their search for life, Hunting for altars to their souls' fine fires, Crying the sun or joy of toil and strife And know not that 'tis I--their heart desires.
They dream not that the sheen on peac.o.c.k's breast, The haze and perfume of a Summer's day, The silver stealing o'er the twilight West Are joys more rich than all the world's display."
MIST
Mist on the sea; like a great bird's pendulous wing, Broken and hushed; it trails on the face of the main, Down comes the sun, a red shot from a merciful sling Burning its heart with swift death as an end to the pain.
THE LAST CLOUD
A red rose cloud upon the evening sky, A gallant cloud which dies in foremost fight, Too proud for prisons of triumphant night.
Knowing no pause, no strain of changing years, Its little hour too short for dreams or tears, The faithful sun its first and latest light-- Who would not so be glad to fight and die!
A red rose cloud upon the evening sky.
SONG
Love is a broken lily, A pale and crownless rose With golden heart made chilly By traitor touch of snows.
So sleep my heart--lie sleeping Nor open weary eyes, For waking is but weeping And Sleep is Paradise.
Love is a cadence trailing Where broken music falls, A hapless shadow sailing Across deserted walls.
So still my heart lie sleeping Till love's hot sun be set, For waking is but weeping.
Asleep--sad eyes forget.
IN THE GRAVE
Dear Love--do you wake in that land where my waking is done?