what is this?
The shadow of a rose . . .
A little ghost that goes
Oblivious of Love's kiss.

Only a shadow . . . yet
It may, in some dark hour
Recall the living flower . . .
If haply Love forget.

St. Sebastian

So beautiful in all thine agony!
So radiant in thine infinite despair . . .
Oh, delicate mouth, brave eyes, and curled bright hair . . .
Oh, lovely body lashed to the rough tree:
What brutal fools were those that gave to thee
Red roses of thine outraged blood to wear,
Laughed at thy bitter pain and loathed the fair
Bruised flower of thy victorious purity?

Marvellous Beauty . . . target of the world,
How all Love's arrows seek thy joy, Oh Sweet!
And wound the white perfection of thy youth!
How all the poisoned spears of hate are hurled
Against thy sorrow when thou darest to meet
With martyrdom men's mockery of the truth!

The Magic Mirrors

In the dim mirrors of imagination,
I watch the silent dancing of my soul . . .
I watch her as she dances with my dreams . . .
See how she takes innumerable disguises,
And hides her beauty behind many masks,
And how, sometimes, she seems to laugh and sing,
. . . And weep . . . and call upon the unknown Gods . . .
But not one mirror has betrayed her voice,
Or shown to me the secret of her face . . .
O silent dance of sorrow and delight,
My heart grown tired with watching, turns away,
To make perhaps a little passionate song
Out of the shadows of immortal things . . .