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diff --git a/22736-0.txt b/22736-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d0b2b44 --- /dev/null +++ b/22736-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1086 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 22736 *** + + + + +THE INN OF DREAMS + +BY + +OLIVE CUSTANCE +(LADY AFRED DOUGLAS) + + + + +LONDON: JOHN LANE, THE BODLEYD HEAD +NEW YORK: JOHN LANE COMPANY, MCMXI + +WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, LONDON AND BECCLES + + + + +DEDICATION + + +J’ÉCRIS POUR QUE LE JOUR OÙ JE NE SERAI PLUS + + +J’écris pour que le jour où je ne serai plus +On sache comme l’air et le plaisir m’ont plu, +Et que mon livre porte à la foule future +Comme j’aimais la vie et l’heureuse nature. + +Attentive aux travaux des champs et des maisons +J’ai marqué chaque jour la forme des saisons, +Parce que l’eau, la terre et la montante flamme +En nul endroit ne sont si belles qu’en mon âme. + +J’ai dit ce que j’ai vu et ce que j’ai senti, +D’un coeur pour qui le vrai ne fut point trop hardi, +Et j’ai eu cette ardeur, par l’amour intimée, +Pour être après la mort parfois encore aimée, + +Et qu’un jeune homme alors lisant ce que j’écris, +Sentant par moi son coeur, ému, troublé, surpris, +Ayant tout oublié des épouses réelles, +M’accueille dans son âme et me préfère à elles. + + COMTESSE MATHIEU DE NOAILLES + + + + +CONTENTS + +Dedication (Comtesse de Noailles) +The Inn of Dreams +The Kingdom of Heaven +A Dream +The Autumn Day +Angels +The Changeling +A Song Against Care +"Quelque part une Enfance très douce et mourir" +Candle-Light +In the South +Spring in the South +“I am Weary, let me Sleep” +Grief +Daffodil Dawn +Beauty +The Vision +The Dance +The Prisoner of God +The Storm +St. Anthony +Black Butterflies +In Praise of Youth +Opal Song +Gifts +Primrose Hill +A Morning Song +The Wings of Fortune +Shadow-Nets +Peacocks. A Mood +Hyacinthus +Hylas +Blue Flowers +Madrigal +Endymion +Dance Song +A Memory +The Photograph +St. Sebastian +The Magic Mirrors + + + + +The Inn of Dreams + + + Sweet Laughter! Sweet Delight! +My heart is like a lighted Inn that waits +Your swift approach . . . and at the open gates +White Beauty stands and listens like a flower. +She has been dreaming of you in the night, +O fairy Princes; and her eyes are bright. +Spur your fleet horses, this is Beauty’s hour! +Even as when a golden flame up-curled +Quivers and flickers out in a dark place, +So is it with the flame of Beauty’s face— +That torch! that rose! that wonder of the world! +And Love shall weep to see—when he rides by +Years hence (the time shall seem as a bird’s flight)— +A lonely Inn beneath a winter sky. +Come now, sweet friends! before the summer die. + Sweet Laughter! Sweet Delight! + + + + +The Kingdom of Heaven + + +O World that holds me by the wings, + How shall my soul escape your snares? +So dear are your delightful things, + So difficult your toils and cares: +That, every way my soul is held + By bonds of love, and bonds of hate; +With all its heavenly ardours quelled, + And all its angels desolate . . . + +Yet in the heart of every child, +God and the world are reconciled! . . . + + + + +A Dream + + +I dreamed we walked together, you and I, +Along a white and lonely road, that went +I know not where . . . and we were well content. +Our laughter was untroubled as the sky, +And all our talk was delicate and shy, +Though in that cage of words wild thoughts were pent +Like prisoned birds that some sweet accident +Might yet release to sing again, and fly. +We passed between long lines of poplar trees . . . +Where, summer comrades gay and debonair, +The south wind and the sunlight danced . . . you smiled, +With great glad eyes, as bright as summer seas, +To feel their twinkling fingers in your hair . . +And then you kissed me, quickly, like a child! + + + + +The Autumn Day + + +How delicately steps the autumn day +In azure cloak and gown of ashen grey +Over the level country that I love! + +With glittering veils of light about her head +And skirts of wide horizons round her spread +White as the white wing-feathers of a dove. + +Her feet, a flash of silver on the sea, +Chase silver sails that fly untiringly +Towards the enchanted Islands of the West. + +Beautiful Islands, gardens of delight! +That flower at dawn with roses red and white . . . +And flame at sunset gold and amethyst . . . + +How delicately steps the autumn day +In azure cloak and gown of ashen grey +Over the level country that I love . . . + +And how my heart that all sweet things beguile +Goes laughing with her for a little while . . . +And then turns homeward like a weary dove. + + + + +Angels + + +When life is difficult, I dream +Of how the angels dance in heaven! +Of how the angels dance and sing +In gardens of eternal spring, +Because their sins have been forgiven . . . +And never more for them shall be +The terrors of mortality! +When life is difficult, I dream +Of how the angels dance in heaven . . . + + + + +The Changeling + + +My father was a golden king, + My mother was a shining queen; +I heard the magic blue-bird sing . . . + They wrapped me in a mantle green. + +They led their winged white horses out, + We rode and rode till dawn was grey; +We rode with many a song and shout, + “Over the hills and far away.” + +They stole the crying human child, + And left me laughing by the fire; +And that is why my heart is wild, + And all my life a long desire . . . + +The old enchantments hold me still . . . + And sometimes in a waking trance +I seek again the Fairy Hill, + The midnight feast, the glittering dance! + +The wizard harpers play for me, + I wear a crown upon my head, +A princess in eternity, + I dance and revel with the dead . . . + +“Vain lies!” I hear the people cry, + I listen to their weary truth; +Then turn again to fantasy, + And the untroubled Land of Youth. + +I hear the laughter of the kings, + I see their jewelled flagons gleam . . . +O wine of Life! . . . immortal things + Move in the splendour of my dream . . . + +My spirit is a homing dove . . . + I drain a crystal cup, and fall +Softly into the arms of Love . . . + And then the darkness covers all. + + + + +A Song Against Care + + + O Care! +Thou art a cloak too heavy to be borne, +Glittering with tears, and gay with painted lies +(For seldom—seldom art thou stained and torn, +Showing a tattered lining, and the bare +Bruised body of thy wearer); thou art fair +To look at, O thou garment of our pride! +A net of colours, thou dost catch the wise; +He lays aside his wisdom for thy sake . . . +And Beauty hides her loveliness in thee . . . +And after . . . when men know the agony +Of thy great weight of splendour, and would shake +Thee swiftly from their shoulders, cast aside +The burden of thy jewelled bands that break +Their very hearts . . . often it is too late. +They fear the world will mock them and deride +When they are stripped of all their golden state. +But some are brave . . . but some among us dare +Cry out against thy torment and be free! +And I would rather a gay beggar be, +And go in rags for all eternity, +Than that thy clanking pomp should cover me, + O Care! . . . + + + + +“Quelque part une Enfance très douce doit mourir” + + Albert Samian + + +Alas! I do not know on what sad day +My childhood went away . . . +It may have left me softly in the night + When I was sleeping—dreaming—who can tell? +Perhaps it whispered “wings were made for flight!” + I only know it never said “farewell” . . . + +And so I cannot tell when youth will go +Although I love it so . . . +But like a little amorous girl that clings + To some fair boy, my spirit all afraid, +While yet she holds youth back by the bright wings, + Knows he must leave her for some other maid! + + + + +Candle-Light + + +Frail golden flowers that perish at a breath, +Flickering points of honey-coloured flame, +From sunset gardens of the moon you came, +Pale flowers of passion . . . delicate flowers of death . . . + +Blossoms of opal fire that raised on high +Upon a hundred silver stems are seen +Above the brilliant dance, or set between +The brimming wine-cups . . . flowers of revelry! + +Roses with amber petals that arise +Out of the purple darkness of the night +To deck the darkened house of Love, to light +The laughing lips, the beautiful glad eyes. + +Lilies with violet-coloured hearts that break +In shining clusters round the silent dead, +A diadem of stars at feet and head, +The glory dazzles . . . but they do not wake . . . + +O golden flowers the moon goes gathering +In magic gardens of her fairy-land, +While splendid angels of the sunset stand +Watching in flaming circles wing to wing . . . + +Frail golden flowers that perish at a breath, +That wither in the hands of light, and die +When bright dawn wakens in a silver sky. +Pale flowers of passion . . . delicate flowers of death. + + + + +In the South + + +I was pale and sad in the South like the olive-trees +That droop their silver heads by the dusty roads, +And are grave and cold and grey in spite of the sun . . . +In the veils of rose and blue that the bright dawn spun +Day wrapped me round in vain! +I longed for the lovers and friends I had left behind, +I longed for the North again. + +I was deaf to song, and even to beauty blind, +Blind to the magic woof that summer weaves, +While roses beat their pearl and ruby leaves +Against my window pane . . . +And orange flowers so passionately white, +So richly perfumed, pined for my delight: +Only my faint heart sighed, +In pity when the glory waned and died, +For all that lovely life unsatisfied! + +I was pale and sad in the South like the olive-trees +That droop their silver heads by the dusty roads . . . + + + + +Spring in the South + + +Beautiful as some rich embroidery +The valley lies in verdant amplitude, +Great mountains—like old merchants—o’er it brood— +And as a lovely woman languidly +Trailing her long blue robes, so comes the sea +To touch it softly in a wistful mood . . . +The sky forgets her starry multitude, +Seeing how fair mere earthly flowers can be! + +Glad country where the wayward feet of Spring, +Moving in mystic dances, bring desire, +New miracles of beauty every day . . . +Where Love and sweet Delight fly wing to wing +Forgetful as in dreams, that bright as fire +So burn the hours of joy as swift away! + + + + +“I am Weary, let me Sleep” + + +I am weary, let me sleep +In some great embroidered bed, +With soft pillows for my head. +I am weary, let me sleep . . . +Petals of sweet roses shed +All around a perfumed heap +White as pearls, and ruby red; +Curtains closely drawn to keep +Wings of darkness o’er me spread . . . +I am weary, let me sleep +In some great embroidered bed. +Let me dream that I am dead, +Nevermore to wake and weep +In the future that I dread . . . +For the ways of life are steep . . . +I am weary, let me sleep . . . + + + + +Grief + + +I, that was once so eager for the light, +The vehement pomp and passion of the day, +Am tired at last, and glad to steal away +Across the dusky borders of the night. +The purple darkness now is my delight, +And with great stars my lonely sorrows play, +As still, some proud and tragic princess may +With diamonds make her desolation bright. + +Night has become a temple for my tears . . . +The moon a silver shroud for my despair, +And all the golden forests of the spheres +Have showered their splendours on me leaf by leaf +Till men that meet me in the sunlight, stare +To see the shining garment of my grief! + + + + +Daffodil Dawn + + +While I slept, and dreamed of you, +Morning, like a princess, came, +All in robe of palest blue: +Stooped and gathered in that hour +From the east a golden flower, +Great and shining flower of flame . . . +Then she hastened on her way +Singing over plain and hill— +While I slept and dreamed of you +Dreams that never can come true . . +Morning at the gates of Day, +Gathered Dawn, the daffodil! + + + + +Beauty + + +I saw the face of Beauty—a pale rose +In the gold dusk of her abundant hair . . . +A silken web of dreams and joys—a snare . . +A net of pleasures in a world of woes, +A bright temptation for gay youth that goes +Laughing upon his way without a care! +A shield of light for conquering Love to bear +Stronger than all the swords of all his foes. + +O face of Beauty—O white dawn enshrined +In sunrise veils of splendid hair—O star! +Shine on those weary men who sadly wise +But guess thy glory faintly from afar— +Missing the marvel of thy smile—and blind +To the imperial passion in thine eyes! + + + + +The Vision + + +I come from lonely downs and silent woods, +With winter in my heart, a withered world, +A heavy weight of dark and sorrowful things, +And all my dreams spread out their rainbow wings, +And turn again to those bright solitudes +Where Beauty met me in a thousand moods, +And all her shining banners were unfurled . . . +And where I snatched from the sweet hands of Spring +A crystal cup and drank a mystic wine, +And walked alone a secret perfumed way, +And saw the glittering Angels at their play. +And heard the golden birds of Heaven sing, +And woke . . . to find white lilies clustering +And all the emerald wood an empty shrine, +Fragrant with myrrh and frankincense and spice, +And echoing yet the flutes of Paradise . . . + + + + +The Dance + + +Do you remember that day I danced in the woods, + Under the dancing leaves? +Do you remember the delicate blue of the sky + And the gold-dust in the air? +And the tawny harvest fields, and the heavy sheaves? +Summer was surely in one of her bravest moods . . . + And oh, the rare +Swift joy that lifted life to an ecstasy, +That shining day I danced for you, dear, in the woods! + +The purple twilight came, and the amber moon . . . + And the fairies danced with me . . . +And the shy fauns crept from the tangled thicket near, + And the startled dryads bent, +White and starry-eyed, each from her secret tree, +To watch that mystical dance, to share that heavenly swoon + That mad, bright banishment. . . . +For we were free in the perfect country, dear, +When purple twilight came and the amber moon . . . + +Some day I shall dance again that mystical dance . . . + I know not when or where! +But the angels shall dance with me, and I shall not be afraid. + I shall look in their deep eyes . . . +And feel their arms about me, and their kisses in my hair, +And know that time is over, and the desperate ways of chance. . . . + I shall be very wise, +And glad at last, and the walls of the world shall fade . . . +The day when I dance again that mystical dance. + + + + +The Prisoner of God + + +Once long and long ago I knew delight. +God gave my spirit wings and a glad voice. +I was a bird that sang at dawn and noon, +That sang at starry evening time and night; +Sang at the sun’s great golden doors, and furled +Brave wings in the white gardens of the moon; +That sang and soared beyond the dusty world. + +Once long and long ago I did rejoice, +But now I am a stone that falls and falls. +A prisoner, cursing the blank prison walls, +Helpless and dumb, with desperate eyes, that see +The terrible beauty of those simple things +My soul disdained when she was proud and free. +And I can only pray: God pity me, +God pity me and give me back my voice! +God pity me and give me back my wings! + + + + +The Storm + + +What do they hunt to-night, the hounds of the wind? +I think it is joy they hunt, for joy has fled from my heart. +I only remember the hours when I sorrowed or sinned, +I only remember the hours when I stood apart +Lonely and tired, in difficult dreams entranced, +And I forget the days when I loved, and laughed, and danced. + +Grey hounds of the wind, I hear your wistful cry, +The cry of unsatisfied hearts hungry for happiness +The house is full of whispering ghosts as you hurry by, +And my soul is heavy and dark with a great distress, +For heaven is far away, and hope is dead; +And the night is a tomb of tears, and despair, and dread. + +O hunt no more wild hounds of the wind and rain, +For my soul is afraid of the sound of your hurrying feet, +And surely under the stars a beautiful joy is slain? +Fly! black wings of sorrow . . . wet wings of the night that beat +At the shuttered windows, swiftly fly away, +Before God stoops to gather the golden flower of day. + + + + +St. Anthony + +THE ENGRAVING BY DÜRER + + +Dürer has drawn him resting by the way . . . +Has he returned from some far pilgrimage? +Or just come out into the light of day +From a dark hermit’s cell? We cannot know . . . +With stooping shoulders, and with head bent low +Over his book—and pointed hood drawn down. +His eager eyes devour the printed page . . . +Regardless of the little lovely town +Rising behind him, with its clustered towers . . . +O Saint, look up! and see how gay and fair +The earth is in its summer-time of flowers, +Look up, and see the world, for God is there . . . +Old dreaming Saint, how many are like you, +Intent upon the dusty book of fate: +Slow to discern the false things from the true! +Yet weary of world clamour and world hate, +And hungering for eternal certainties . . . +Not knowing how close about them heaven lies! + + + + +Black Butterflies + + +O words of all my songs . . . black butterflies! +Wild words of all the wayward songs I sing . . . +Called from the tomb of some enchanted past +By that strange sphinx, my soul, they slowly rise +And settle on white pages wing to wing . . . +White pages like flower-petals fluttering +Held spellbound there till some blind hour shall bring +The perfect voice that, delicate and wise, +Shall set them free in fairyland at last! +That garden of all dreams and ecstasies +Where my soul sings through an eternal spring, +Watching alone with enigmatic eyes, +Dark wings on pale flower-petals quivering . . . +O words of all my songs . . . black butterflies! + + + + +In Praise of Youth + + +O delicate youth, thy praises shall be sung +While yet my heart is young . . . +While Life and I, in search of lovely things, +Go out with dancing feet and dreaming eyes, +And find wild Folly, with her rainbow wings, +Sweeter than all the wisdom of the wise. + +O delicate Youth, thy praises shall be sung +While yet my heart is young . . . +Thy whiteness, and thy brightness, and the sweet +Flushed softness of thy little restless feet . . . +The tossed and sunny tangle of thy hair, +Thy swiftness, slimness, shyness, simpleness, +That set the old folk sighing for the rare +Red rose of Joy thy careless days possess. + +. . . And when at last, with sad, indifferent face, +I walk in narrow pathways patiently; +Forgetful of thy beauty, and thy truth, +Thy ringing laughter, thy rebellious grace . . . +When fair Love turns his face away from me . . . +Then, let me die, O delicate sweet Youth! + + + + +Opal Song + + +Shy and wild . . . shy and wild +To my lovers I have been. +Frank and wayward as a child, +Strange and secret as a queen; +Fain of love, and love beguiled, +Yet afraid of love, I ween! + +False and true . . . false and true +Is the woman’s heart in me . . . +Fair lost faces that I rue, +Golden friends I laugh to see, +Changing, I come back to you, +Never doubt my loyalty! + + + + +Gifts + + +Come near! you are my friend and I will wear +Gems for your sake, and flowers in my hair; +Garments of silver gauze, and cloth of gold . . . +And I will give you power to have and hold, +And passion, and delight and ecstasy. +What will you give to me? + +And I will give you, if you will but stay, +The magic mirror of the dawn, where day +Waking, beholds the wonder of her face— +If you will keep me yet in your embrace, +And let me dream of Love’s eternity. +What will you give to me? + +Yes! I will give you the gold veils of light, +And the dark spangled curtains of the night . . . +And I will give you as a flower unfurled, +The proud and marvellous beauty of the world, +And all the wild, white horses of the sea. +What will you give to me? . . . + + + + +Primrose Hill + + +Wild heart in me that frets and grieves, +Imprisoned here against your will . . . +Sad heart that dreams of rainbow wings +See! I have found some golden things! +The poplar trees on Primrose Hill +With all their shining play of leaves . . . +And London like a silver bride, +That will not put her veil aside! + +Proud London like a painted Queen, +Whose crown is heavy on her head . . . +City of sorrow and desire, +Under a sky of opal fire, +Amber and amethyst and red . . . +And how divine the day has been! +For every dawn God builds again +This world of beauty and of pain . . . + +Wild heart that hungers for delight, +Imprisoned here against your will; +Sad heart, so eager to be gay! +Loving earth’s lovely things . . . the play +Of wind and leaves on Primrose Hill . . . +Or London dreaming of the night . . . +Adventurous heart, on beauty bent, +That only Heaven could quite content! + + + + +A Morning Song + + +You saw my window open wide, + And woke me early, sister day! +You came in all your lovely pride, +With laughing looks that I adore, + With wings of blue and grey . . . +With sunshine skirts that swept the floor, +With songs to drive night’s dreams away, + You called me out to play. +And so I took you by the hand, +And found the way to fairyland . . . +With such impatient feet I climb + The ladders of delight! +For well I know that ruthless time + Turns morning moods to tears and night. + + + + +The Wings of Fortune + + +Fair fortune you are wild and coy, +Fickle, mysterious, and shy . . . +And so we lost you, Love and I! +And now, at last, because we find +Your golden footprints, Love the boy, +Dreams you are near . . . but Love is blind! +Yet, surely Sorrow’s arms unwind +From this tired heart, and dark distress +Fades softly . . . softly 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, 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 . . . + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 22736 *** + |