known!)

THE HOUSE OF SIN

 

When Time is done at last, and the last Spring

Fadeth on earth, and thy gaze seeketh mine,

Watch well for one whose face beareth for sign

The legend of a soul's refashioning:

As I shall watch for one whose pale hands bring

The first faint violet, and know them thine

Grown pitiful and come to build Love's shrine

Where the old Aprils wait, unfaltering.

Then the great floods between us will retire,

And the long path I follow down will grow

To be the path thy climbing feet desire;

Until we meet at last, made glad, and know

The cleansing hands that made my soul as snow

Have kept alive in thine the ancient fire.

THE HOUSE OF MUSIC

 

Such space there is, such endless breadth of time

Between me and my world of yesterday,

I half forget what sounds these be that stray

About my chamber, and grow and fall and climb.

Listen!--that sweet reiterated chime,

Doth it not mark some body changed to clay?

That last great chord, some anguish far away?

Hark! harmony ever now and faultless rhyme.

O Soul of mine, among these lutes and lyres,

These reeds, these golden pipes, and quivering strings,

Thou knowest now that in the old, old years

We who knew only one of all desires

Came often even to music's furthest springs--

To pass, because their waters gleamed like tears.

THE HOUSE OF COLOUR

 

Mine gold is here; yea, heavy yellow gold,

Gathered ere