from the world:
And in Hope's silver sky unfurled,
I see the banners of delight!
And the grey heaven of life grows bright
With the red dawn of happiness . . .
As with a laughing look Love flings
His heavy crown of thorns away . . .
Fair fortune, you are wild and coy,
And ah! I fear you will not stay.
But Love has caught you by the wings
And radiant as Eurydice
By her brave poet's song set free,
I rush into the arms of joy!

Shadow-Nets

When I was wandering on the Downs to-day
I saw the pine-woods sleeping in the sun . . .
For they were tired of weaving shadow-nets—
Weaving all day in vain . . . in vain . . . in vain . . .
Pale phantom nets to snare the golden sun!
And then I thought of how the poets weave
With shadowy words their cunning nets of song,
Hoping to catch, at last, a shining dream!

Peacocks. A Mood

In Gorgeous plumage, azure, gold and green,
They trample the pale flowers, and their shrill cry
Troubles the garden's bright tranquillity!
Proud birds of Beauty, splendid and serene,
Spreading their brilliant fans, screen after screen
Of burnished sapphire, gemmed with mimic suns—
Strange magic eyes, that, so the legend runs,
Will bring misfortune to this fair demesne . . .

And my gay youth, that, vain and debonair,
Sits in the sunshine—tired at last of play
(A child, that finds the morning all too long),
Tempts with its beauty that disastrous day
When in the gathering darkness of despair
Death shall strike dumb the laughing mouth of song.

Hyacinthus

Fair boy, how gay the morning must have seemed
Before the fatal game that murdered thee!
Of such a dawn my wistful heart has dreamed:
Surely I too have lived in Arcady
When Spring, lap-full of roses, ran to meet
White Aphrodite risen from the sea . . .

Perchance I saw thee then, so glad and fleet;
Hasten to greet Apollo, stoop to bind
The gold and jewelled sandals on his feet,
While he so radiant, so divinely kind,
Lured thee with honeyed words to be his friend,
All heedless of thy fate, for Love is blind.

For Love is blind and cruel, and the end
Of every joy is sorrow and distress.
And when immortal creatures lightly bend
To kiss the lips of simple loveliness,
Swords are unsheathed in silence, and clouds rise,
Some God is jealous of the mute caress . . .

But who shall mourn thy death—ah, not the wise?
Better to perish in thy happiest hour,
To close in sight of beauty thy dark eyes,
And, dying so, be changed into a flower,
Than that the stealthy and relentless years
Should steal that grace which was thy only dower.

And bring thee in return dull cares and tears,
And difficult days and sickness and despair . . .
O, not for thee the griefs and sordid fears
That, like a burden, trembling age must bear;
Slain in thy youth, by the sweet hands of Love,
Thou shalt remain for ever young and fair . . .

Hylas

Dark boy, how radiantly you went to meet
Your mystic doom . . . what colours in the sky!
As though that cup of beauty the gods hold
Brimmed over on a world in ecstasy . . .
What silver flutes charmed all the forest ways . . .
How the green shimmered, jewelled thick with flowers,
And how the sun was like a globe of gold . . .
Yet you but thought to chase the perfect hours
Down that white road of wonder and delight,
The highway of your dreams, and heedlessly
You crushed the violets with your slim brown feet,
And whistled low, and sang a careless song . . .
Because your life was full of lovely days,
Because your life was delicate and sweet . . .
O youth and dawn . . . you dreamed not of the night . . .
O life and laughter . . . but the night is long . . .

Blue Flowers

I go to gather in the woods for you
The wild flowers that are blue . . .
Petals to match the colour of your eyes!

None but blue blossoms will I take, yet see
How sweetly tempting me
The fruit trees swing their scented treasuries.

And how the buttercups and daisies dance
To meet my dazzled glance!
But gold and silver, Sweet, are naught to you.

And so let others rob God's gardens . . . shake
The stars down for your sake—
I bring you but the wild flowers that are blue!

Madrigal

Rare garden where my heart goes gathering
Many a lovely and delightful thing,
Pale roses of your body and the fair
Unrivalled yellow blossoms of your hair!

Tall lilies of your gay and careless grace,
And O the wistful flower of your face!
And all the soft and starry mysteries
Of those divine forget-me-nots, your eyes . . .

O come, fair Love, before the flowers fade,
And bless this garden that the gods have made . . .
Rare garden where my heart goes gathering
Many a lovely and delightful thing . . .

Endymion

Your hair was like a honey-coloured flame
Seen through a veil of silver when you came
And took me in your arms that winter night . . .
The moonlight, amorous of your golden hair,
Toyed with it softly, as a woman might
With some bright treasure, delicate and rare.

O, young Endymion, risen from the dead,
Born once again to beauty, O bright head!
The moon stoops low to kiss you, as of old;
Stoops graciously from her great throne of pearl,
With outstretched arms mysterious and cold . . .
But you have left her for a mortal girl.

Dance Song

O hide your passion from the moon.
When young and slender she appears
In shining gown and silver shoon . . .
And, all her path with stars impearled,
She dances round the darkened world.

O hide your sorrows from the sun . . .
The sun should never see your tears!
Weep, if you will, when day is done . . .
But laugh and sing and clap your hands
While yet the sun in heaven stands.

A Memory

O how I loved you when we met
For that one moment of the day!
Yes, loved you desperately, and yet
Could scarcely find a word to say—
No wonder that you looked and smiled
As though upon some timid child.
You never guessed, how could you guess
That I adored your loveliness!

You never saw the prisoned soul
Behind the windows of my eyes,
Frantic to break from fate's control
And charm you with her flatteries . . .
And show you, your cold heart to move,
The shining treasure of her love,
And worship in a long embrace,
The reckless beauty of your face!

You never knew . . . and the dream died
A broken rose beneath your feet . . .
You went your way . . . the world is wide
And I forgot, for youth is sweet . . .
Yet when at night I lie awake,
My heart is sad for a dream's sake,
And I remember and regret . . .
O how I loved you when we met!

The Photograph

O Beauty, what is this?
A shadow of your face . . .
Where is the wild flower grace
That Love is wont to kiss?

Where is the bird that brings
To your untroubled eyes
The blue of fairy skies,
The flash of fairy wings? . . .

O wild bird of delight,
That no white hand may hold,
Or fairest cage of gold . . .
For who would stay its flight?

The song-bird of your voice
Whose magic song Love hears,
Trembling behind your tears,
Trilling when you rejoice . . .

O Beauty,