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diff --git a/22736-8.txt b/22736-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 6f72c48..0000000 --- a/22736-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,1472 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Inn of Dreams, by Olive Custance - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: The Inn of Dreams - -Author: Olive Custance - -Release Date: September 23, 2007 [EBook #22736] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE INN OF DREAMS *** - - - - -Produced by Ruth Hart - - - - - - -THE INN OF DREAMS - -BY - -OLIVE CUSTANCE -(LADY AFRED DOUGLAS) - - - -LONDON: JOHN LANE, THE BODLEY 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) . . . v -The Inn of Dreams . . . 3 -The Kingdom of Heaven . . . 5 -A Dream . . . 6 -The Autumn Day . . . 8 -Angels . . . 10 -The Changeling . . . 11 -A Song Against Care . . . 14 -"Quelque part une Enfance très douce et mourir" . . . 16 -Candle-Light . . . 18 -In the South . . . 20 -Spring in the South . . . 22 -"I am Weary, let me Sleep" . . . 24 -Grief . . . 26 -Daffodil Dawn . . . 28 -Beauty . . . 29 -The Vision . . . 31 -The Dance . . . 33 -The Prisoner of God . . . 36 -The Storm . . . 38 -St. Anthony . . . 41 -Black Butterflies . . . 43 -In Praise of Youth . . . 45 -Opal Song . . . 47 -Gifts . . . 48 -Primrose Hill . . . 50 -A Morning Song . . . 52 -The Wings of Fortune . . . 53 -Shadow-Nets . . . 55 -Peacocks. A Mood . . . 56 -Hyacinthus . . . 58 -Hylas . . . 61 -Blue Flowers . . . 63 -Madrigal . . . 64 -Endymion . . . 65 -Dance Song . . . 66 -A Memory . . . 67 -The Photograph . . . 69 -St. Sebastian . . . 71 -The Magic Mirrors . . . 73 - - - - - -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 of The Inn of Dreams, by Olive Custance - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE INN OF DREAMS *** - -***** This file should be named 22736-8.txt or 22736-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/2/2/7/3/22736/ - -Produced by Ruth Hart - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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