And it led with a step more than mortal
    Far upward some presence to seek;
  And I felt that this love was immortal,
    This love which had made me so weak.

  We had clomb till the limbo of spirits
    Of darkness and crime deep below
  Swung nebular; nor could we hear its
    Lost wailings and moanings of woe,--
  For we stood in a realm that inherits
    A vanquishing virgin of snow.

THE QUARREL.

  Could I divine how her gray eyes
  Gat such cold haughtiness of skies;

  How, some wood-flower's shadow brown,
  Dimmed her fair forehead's wrath a frown;

  How, rippled sunshine blown thro' air,
  Tossed scorn her eloquence of hair;

  How to a folded bud again
  She drew her blossomed lips' disdain;

  Naught deigning save eyes' utterance,
  Star-words, which quicker reach the sense;

  Then, afterwards, how melted there
  The austere woman to one tear;

  Then were I wise to know how grew
  This star-stained miracle of blue,
  How God makes wild flowers out of dew.

THE MOOD O' THE EARTH.

  My heart is high, is high, my dear,
    And the warm wind sunnily blows;
  My heart is high with a mood that's cheer,
    And burns like a sun-blown rose.

  My heart is high, is high, my dear,
    And the Heaven's deep skies are blue;
  My heart is high as the passionate year,
    And smiles like a bud in dew.

  My heart, my heart is high, my sweet,
    For wild is the smell o' the wood,
  That gusts in the breeze with a pulse o' heat,
    Mad heat that beats like a blood.

  My heart, my heart is high, my sweet,
    And the sense of summer is full;
  A sense of summer,--full fields of wheat,
    Full forests and waters cool.

  My heart is high, is high, my heart,
    As the bee's that groans and swinks
  In the dabbled flowers that dart and part
    To his woolly bulk when he drinks.

  My heart is high, is high, my heart,--
    Oh, sing again, O good, gray bird,
  That I may get that lilt by heart,
    And fit each note with a word.

  God's saints! I tread the air, my dear!
    Flow one with the running wind;
  And the stars that stare I swear, my dear,
    Right soon in my hair I'll find.

  To live high up a life of mist
    With the white things in white skies,
  With their limbs of pearl and of amethyst,
    Who laugh blue humorous eyes!

  Or to creep and to suck like an elfin thing
    To the aching heart of a rose;
  In the harebell's ear to cling and swing
    And whisper what no one knows!

  To live on wild honey as fresh as thin
    As the rain that's left in a flower,
  And roll forth golden from feet to chin
    In the god-flower's Danaë shower!

  Or free, full-throated curve back the throat
    With a vigorous look at the blue,
  And sing right staunch with a lusty note
    Like the hawk hurled where he flew!

  God's life! the blood of the Earth is mine!
    And the mood of the Earth I'll take,
  And brim my soul with her wonderful wine,
    And sing till my heart doth break!

A GRAY DAY.

I.

  Long vollies of wind and of rain
    And the rain on the drizzled pane,
    And the eve falls chill and murk;
  But on yesterday's eve I know
  How a horned moon's thorn-like bow
  Stabbed rosy thro' gold and thro' glow,
    Like a rich barbaric dirk.

II.

  Now thick throats of the snapdragons,--
  Who hold in their hues cool dawns,
    Which a healthy yellow paints,--
  Are filled with a sweet rain fine
  Of a jaunty, jubilant shine,
  A faery vat of rare wine,
    Which the honey thinly taints.

III.

  Now dabble the poppies shrink,
  And the coxcomb and the pink;
    While the candytuft's damp crown
  Droops dribbled, low bowed i' the wet;
  And long spikes o' the mignonette
  Little musk-sacks open set,
    Which the dripping o' dew drags down.

IV.

  Stretched taunt on the blades of grass,
  Like a gossamer-fibered glass,
    Which the garden-spider spun,
  The web, where the round rain clings
  In its middle sagging, swings;--
  A hammock for Elfin things
    When the stars succeed the sun.

V.

  And mark, where the pale gourd grows
  Up high as the clambering rose,
    How that tiger-moth is pressed
  To the wide leaf's underside.--
  And I know where the red wasps hide,
  And the wild bees,--who defied
    The first strong gusts,--distressed.

VI.

  Yet I feel that the gray will blow
  Aside for an afterglow;
    And a breeze on a sudden toss
  Drenched boughs to a pattering show'r
  Athwart the red dusk in a glow'r,
  Big drops heard hard on each flow'r
    On the grass and the flowering moss.

VII.

  And then for a minute, may be,--
  A pearl--hollow worn--of the sea,--
    A glimmer of moon will smile;
  Cool stars rinsed clean on the dusk,
  A freshness of gathering musk
  O'er the showery lawns, as brusk
    As spice from an Indian isle.

CARMEN.

  La _Gitanilla!_ tall dragoons
  In Andalusian afternoons,
  With ogling eye and compliment
  Smiled on you, as along you went
  Some sleepy street of old Seville;
  Twirled with a military skill
  Moustaches; buttoned uniforms
  Of Spanish yellow bowed your charms.

  Proud, wicked head and hair blue-black!
  Whence your mantilla, half thrown back,
  Discovered shoulders and bold breast
  Bohemian brown: and you were dressed--
  In some short skirt of gipsy red
  Of smuggled stuff; thence stockings dead
  White silk exposed with many a hole
  Thro' which your plump legs roguish stole
  A fleshly look; and tiny toes
  In red morocco shoes with bows
  Of scarlet ribbons. Daintily
  You walked by me and I did see
  Your oblique eyes, your sensuous lip,
  That gnawed the rose you once did flip
  At bashful Jose's nose while loud
  Laughed the guant guards among the crowd.
  And, in your brazen chemise thrust,
  Heaved with the swelling of your bust,
  That bunch of white acacia blooms
  Whiffed past my nostrils hot perfumes.

  As in a cool _neveria_
  I ate an ice with Mérimée,
  Dark Carmencita, you passed gay,
  All holiday bedizenéd,
  A new mantilla on your head;
  A crimson dress bespangled fierce;
  And crescent gold, hung in your ears,
  Shone wrought Morisco; and each shoe
  Cordovan leather, spangled blue,
  Glanced merriment; and from large arms
  To well-turned ancles all your charms
  Blew flutterings and glitterings
  Of satin bands and beaded strings;
  And 'round each arm's fair thigh one fold,
  And graceful wrists, a twisted gold
  Coiled serpents, tails fixed in the head,
  Convulsive-jeweled glossy red.
  In flowers and trimmings to the jar
  Of mandolin and low guitar
  You in the grated _patio_
  Danced; the curled coxcombs' flirting row
  Rang pleased applause. I saw you dance,
  With wily motion and glad glance
  Voluptuous, the wild _romalis_,
  Where every movement was a kiss
  Of elegance delicious, wound
  In your Basque tambourine's dull sound.
  Or as the ebon castanets
  Clucked out dry time in unctuous jets,
  Saw angry Jose thro' the grate
  Glare on us a pale face of hate,
  When some indecent colonel there
  Presumed too lewdly for his ear.

  Some still night in Seville; the street,
  _Candilejo_; two shadows meet--
  Flash sabres; crossed within the moon,--
  Clash rapidly--a dead dragoon.

DISENCHANTMENT OF DEATH.

  Hush! She is dead! Tread gently as the light
    Foots dim the weary room. Thou shalt behold.
  Look:--In death's ermine pomp of awful white,
    Pale passion of pulseless slumber virgin cold:
  Bold, beautiful youth proud as heroic Might--
    Death! and how death hath made it vastly old.

  Old earth she is now: energy of birth
    Glad wings hath fledged and tried them suddenly;
  The eyes that held have freed their narrow mirth;
    Their sparks of spirit, which made this to be,
  Shine fixed in rarer jewels not of earth,
    Far Fairylands beyond some silent sea.

  A sod is this whence what were once those eyes
    Will grow blue wild-flowers in what happy air;
  Some weed with flossy blossoms will surprise,
    Haply, what summer with her affluent hair;
  Blush roses bask those cheeks; and the wise skies
    Will know her dryad to what young oak fair.

  The chastity of death hath touched her so,
    No dreams of life can reach her in such rest;--
  No dreams the mind exhausted here below,
    Sleep built within the romance of her breast.
  How she will sleep! like musick quickening slow
    Dark the dead germs, to golden life caressed.

  Low musick, thin as winds that lyre the grass,
    Smiting thro' red roots harpings; and the sound
  Of elfin revels when the wild dews glass
    Globes of concentric beauty on the ground;
  For showery clouds o'er tepid nights that pass
    The prayer in harebells and faint foxgloves crowned.

  So, if she's dead, thou know'st she is not dead.
    Disturb her not; she lies so lost in sleep:
  The too-contracted soul its shell hath fled:
    Her presence drifts about us and the deep
  Is yet unvoyaged and she smiles o'erhead:--
    Weep not nor sigh--thou wouldst not have _her_ weep?

  To principles of passion and of pride,
    To trophied circumstance and specious law,
  Stale saws of life, with scorn now flung aside,
    From Mercy's throne and Justice would'st thou draw
  Her, Hope in Hope, and Chastity's pale bride,
    In holiest love of holy, without flaw?

  The anguish of the living merciless,--
    Mad, bitter cruelty unto the grave,--
  Wrings the dear dead with tenfold heart's distress,
    Earth chaining love, bound by the lips that rave.
  If thou hast sorrow let thy sorrow bless
    That power of death, of death our selfless slave.

  "Unjust?"--He is not! for hast thou not all,
    All that thou ever hadst when this dull clay
  So heartless, blasted now, flushed spiritual,
    A restless vassal of Earth's night and day?
  This hath been thine and is; the cosmic call
    Hath disenchanted that which might not stay.

  _Thou_ unjust!--bar not from its high estate,--
    Won with what toil thro' devastating cares:
  What bootless battling with the violent Fate;
    What mailed endeavor with resistless years;--
  That soul:--whole-hearted granted once thy mate,
    Heaven only loaned, return it not with tears!

THE THREE URGANDAS.

  Cast on sleep there came to me
  Three Urgandas; and the sea
  In lost lands of Briogne
    Sounded moaning, moaning:
  Cloudy clad in awful white;
  And each face a lucid light
  Rayed and blossomed out of night,--
    And a wind was groaning.

  In my sleep I saw them rest,
  Each a long hand at her breast,
  A soft flame that lulls the West;--
    And the sea was moaning, moaning;--
  Hair like hoarded ingots rolled
  Down white shoulders glossy gold,
  Streaks of molten moonlight cold,--
    And a wind was groaning.

  Rosy 'round each high brow bent
  Four-fold starry gold that sent
  Barbs of fire redolent;--
    And the sea was moaning, moaning;--
  'Neath their burning crowns their eyes
  Burned like southern stars the skies
  Rock in shattered storm that flies,--
    And a wind was groaning.

  Wisdom's eyes of lurid dark;
  And each red mouth like a spark
  Flashed and laughed off care and cark,--
    And the sea was moaning, moaning;--
  Mouths for song and lips to kiss;
  Lips for hate and mouths to hiss;
  Lips that fashioned hell or bliss,--
    And the wind was groaning.

  Tall as stately virgins dead,
  Tapers lit at feet and head,
  'Round whom Latin prayers are said,--
    And the sea was moaning, moaning;--
  Or as vampire women, who,
  Buried beauties, rise and woo
  Youths whose blood they suck like dew,--
    And a wind was groaning.

  Then the west one said to me:
  "Thou hast slept thus holily
  While seven sands ran secretly."--
    And the sea was moaning, moaning;--
  "Earth hath served thee like a slave,
  Serving us who found thee brave,
  Fearless of or life or grave."--
    And a wind was groaning.

  "Know!"--she smote my brow; a pain,
  Riddling arrows, rent my brain,
  Ceased and earth fell, some vast strain;--
    And the sea was moaning, moaning;--
  Then I understood all thought;
  What was life the spirit fraught;
  Love and hate; how worlds were wrought:--
    And a wind was groaning.

  Then the east one said to me:
  "Thou hast wandered wearily
  By what mist-enveloped sea!"--
    And the sea was moaning, moaning;--
  "Know the things thou hast not seen;
  Life and law, and love and teen;
  Things that be and have not been."--
    And the wind was groaning.

  "See!" her voice sung like a lyre
  Throbs of thunderous desire;
  Then the iron sight like fire--
    And the sea was moaning, moaning;--
  Burst; the inner eyelids, which
  Husked clairvoyance, with a twitch
  Rose--and I with light was rich;--
    And a wind was groaning.

  Then I saw the eyes of Sleep;
  Nerves of Life and veins that leap;
  Laws of entity; the deep:--
    And the sea was moaning, moaning;--
  Orbs and eons; springs of Power;
  Circumstance--blown like a flower;--
  Time--the second of an hour:--
    And the wind was groaning.

  To the central third one's full
  Balanced being beautiful
  Heart, to hearken, made a lull,--
    And the sea was moaning, moaning;--
  As she sternly stooped to me:
  "Thou dost know and thou canst see;
  What thou art arise and be!"--
    And the wind was groaning.

  To my mouth hot lips she pressed;
  And my famished soul, thrice blessed,
  Quaffed her radiance and caressed:--
    And vague seas were moaning, moaning:--
  Mounted; star-vibrating fled;
  Soared to love, with her who said:
  "Thou dost live and thou art dead."--
    Far off winds were groaning.

THE BRUSH SPARROW.

I.

  Ere wild haws, looming in the glooms,
  Build bolted drifts of breezy blooms;
  And in the whistling hollow there
  The red-bud bends as brown and bare
  As buxom Roxy's up-stripped arm;
  From some slick hickory or larch,
  Sighed o'er the sodden meads of March,
  The sad heart thrills and reddens warm
  To hear thee braving the rough storm,
  Frail courier of green-gathering powers,--
  Rebelling sap in trunks and flowers;
  Love's minister come heralding;
  O sweet saint-voice among bleak bowers!--
  Thou brown-red pursuivant of Spring!

II.

  "_Moan_" sob the woodland cascades still
  Down bloomless ledges of the hill;
  And gray, gaunt clouds like harpies hang
  In harpy heavens, and swoop and clang
  Sharp beaks and talons of the wind:
  Black scowl the forests, and unkind
  The far fields as the near; while song
  Seems murdered and all passion, wrong.
  One wild frog only in the thaw
  Of spawny pools wakes cold and raw,
  Expires a melancholy bass
  And stops as if bewildered; then
  Along the frowning wood again,
  Flung in the thin wind's fangy face,
  Thou, in red, woolly tassels proud
  Of bannered maples, flutest loud:
  "_Her Grace! her Grace! her Grace!_"

III.

  "Her Grace! her Grace! her Grace!"
  Climbs beautiful and sunny-browed
  Up, up the kindling hills and wakes
  Blue berries in the berry brakes;
  With fragrant flakes, that blow and bleach,
  Deep powders smothered quince and peach;
  Eyes dogwoods with a thousand eyes;
  Teaches each sod how to be wise
  With twenty wild-flowers for one weed;
  And kisses germs that they may seed.
  In purest purple and sweet white
  Treads up the happier hills of light;
  Bloom, cloudy-borne, song in her hair,
  Long dew-drops her pale fingers fair:
  Big wind-retainers, and the rains
  Her yeomen strong that flash the plains;
  While scarlet mists at dawn,--and gold
  At eve,--her panoply enfold.--
  Her herald tabarded behold!--
  Awake to greet! prepare to sing!
  She comes, the darling Duchess, Spring!"

CHORDS.

I.

  Sleep while I sing to thee, Dulcinea,--
  How like a shower of moonlight-crusted beams
  Of textile form compact, whose veins run stars,--
  Discovered goddess of what naked loves!--
  Maiden of dreams and aromatic sleep,
  Thou liest. Thy long instrument against
  Thy god-voluptuous sensuousness of hip
  Pure iridescent pearl of ocean slopes:
  Tempestuous silent color-melodies
  Pulse glimmering from it beaten by the moon,--
  Soft songs the white hands of white shadows touch.--
  Magnetic star set slumberous over night,
  Watch with me this superior star of Earth
  Good Heaven was kind to grant me: Trembler,
  Like some soft bird, dream, while I sing to thee--
  Dream, languid ardor, my Dulcinea, dream.

II.

  Floats a wild chant of morning from the hills;
    Bursts a broad song of sunlight on the sea;
  High Heaven throbs strung with rays of chords and thrills,
    Life's resonant pæans to Earth's minstrelsy.
      Bind thou swift sandals on of youth,
      My love, and harp to me of truth
        In lands of joy or ruth.

  Now sheer o'er solitudes of noon the strife
    Of chariot fierce by chariot scintillant
  Flames, and the blade-bare charioteers for life,
    O'er-bent, close-curled, goad their hot yokes that pant.
      Haste not, my love, but from the beam
      Beside this olive-frosty stream
        Sing while I rest and dream.

  What swart Penthesilea, Amazon,
    Hath, smitten, hurled her shield, that crescent there;
  To wrench the barbéd arrow leaned,--voiced one
    Defiant shout, breathed her red life in air.--
      Tho' life be close to sunset, lo,
      Into the sunset let us go
        Still lyring joy not woe.

  How swims the Night thro' the deep-oceaned sky!
    How at pale lips blown stars like bubbles break,
  Burn, streamed from showery locks she tosses high!--
    A stronger swimmer, Death, glares in her wake.--
      Cast, love, ah cast thy harp away!
      Aweary am I of thy lay--
        Kneel down by me and pray.

III.

  When love delays, when love delays and Joy
    Steals a strange shadow o'er the happy hills,
    And Hope smiles from To-morrow, nor fulfills
  One promise of To-day, thy sight would cloy
      This soul with loved despair
      By seeing thee so fair.

  When love delays, when love delays and song
    Aches at wild lips regretful, as the sound
    Of a whole sea strives in the shell-mouth bound,
  Tho' Hope smiles still to-morrowed, all this wrong
      Would, at one little word,
      Leap forth for thee a sword.

  When love delays, when love delays and sleep
    Nests in dark eyeballs, like a song of home
    Heard 'mid familiar flowers o'er the foam,
  Tho' Hope smiles still to-morrowed, thou wouldst steep
      This hurt heart overmuch
      In balm with one true touch.

  When love delays, when love delays and Sorrow
    Drinks her own tears that fever her soul's thirst,
    And song, and sleep, and memory seem accurst,
  For Hope smiles still to-morrowed, I would borrow
      One smile from thee to cheer
      The weary, weary year.

  When love delays, when love delays and Death
    Hath sealed dim lips and mocked young eyes with night,
    To love or hate locked calm, indifferent quite,--
  Hope's star-eyed acolyte,--what kisses' breath,
      What joys can slay regret
      Or teach thee to forget!

IV.

  Thou hast not loved her, hast not as thou shouldst,
    O narrow heart, that could not grasp so wide!
    And tho' thy oaths seemed oaths yet they have lied,
    And thy caresses, kisses were--denied--
  Thou hast not loved her, hast not as thou couldst.

  Thou hast not loved her, hast not as thou shouldst;
    O shallow eyes, that could not image deep!--
    Enough! what boots it tho' ye weep and weep?
    Her sleep is deep, too deep! so let her sleep--
  Thou hast not loved her, hast not as thou couldst.

  Thou hast not loved her, hast not as thou shouldst;
    For hadst thou, that confluent night and day
    Had in oblivion currents borne away
    Not one alone--but coward! thou didst stay--
  Thou hast not loved her, hast not as thou couldst!

V.

  O Life, thou hast no power left to strive,
    Life, who, upon wild mountains of Surprise,
    Behold'st Love's citadelled, tall towers rise,--
  Shafts of clear, Paphian waters poured that live.

  O Hope, who sought'st fulfillment of deep dreams
    Beyond those Caucasus of Faith and Truth,--
    Twixt silver realms of eld and golden youth
  Rolled,--cloudward clustered; whose sonorous streams,

  Urned in the palms of Death, gush to his feet:
    Unlovely beauty of sad, stirless sight
    Mixed in them with eternity of night;--
  O Hope, how sad the journey once so sweet!

  Dreams crowned with thorns have passed thee on the way;
    And Beauties with bare limbs red-bruised and torn;
    Tall, holy Hours their eyes dull, wan and worn,
  Slaves manacled whom lashed the brutal Day.

  And Sorrow sat beside a sea so wide,
    That shoreless Heaven unto one little star
    Upon the brink of night seems not so far,
  And on her feet the frail foams tossing sighed.

  She, her rent hair, dressed like a siren's, full
    Of weedy waifs and strays of moaning shells,
    Streaked with the glimmering sands and foamy bells,
  Loomed a pale utterance most beautiful.

  "And thou shall love me, Sorrow!" I; but she
    Turned her vast eyes upon me and no more;
    Their melancholy language clove the core
  Of my fast heart; and in mine ears the sea

  Along gaunt crags yearned iron-husky grief;
    Groaned the hard headlands with the wings of Storm,
    Huge thunder shook the foot-hills and Alarm
  Gnashed her thin fangs from hissing reef to reef.

  So to the hills aweary I did turn.--
    Beyond, a reach of sunlight and slim flowers;
    Where Hope, an amaranth, and tearless Hours,
  Long lilies, lived, whose hearts stiff gold did burn.

  And there curled Joy clinked their chaste chalices;
    Distilled at dusk, poured bubbling dewy wine,
    Divine elixir! off his lips divine
  Tossed the fleet rapture to the golden lees,

  And so lolled dazed with pleasure. And I said,
    "Yield me the lily thou hast drained that I
    This hollow thirst may kill and so not die?"
  To me he laughed, "I yield it!"--but 'twas dead.

  And each blown reach and eminence of blooms
    Flushed long, low, gurgling murmurs like a sea,
    And laughed bright lips that flashed white teeth of glee
  In pearly flower on flower; pure perfumes

  Gasped the rolled fields; and o'er the eminence
    I journeyed joyless thro' a blossom-fire
    That, budding kisses curled with blown desire,
  Clasped me and claimed me tho' I spurned it hence.

  Then came unto a land of thorns and weeds,
    And dust and thirst o'er which a songless sky,
    Hoarse with lean vultures, scowled a scoffing lie,
  Where cold snakes hissed among dead, rattling reeds.

  And there I saw the bony brow of Hate;
    Vile, vicious sneers, the eyes of shriveled Scorn
    Among the writhing briers; each a thorn
  Of cavernous hunger barbed with burning fate.

  They, thro' her face-drawn locks of raveled dark,
    Stung a stark horror; and I felt my heart
    Freeze, wedged with ice, to dullness part by part,
  And knew Hate coiled toward me yet stood stark--

  Fell; seeing on the happy, happy hills,
    Above that den of dust and thorny thirst,
    The bastioned walls of Love in glory burst,
  Built by sweet glades of Poesy and rills.

  O Life, I had not life enough to strive!
    O Hope, I had not hope enough to dream!
    Death drew me to him and to sigh did seem,
  "Love? Love?--thou canst not reach her and yet live!

  "For sorrow, joy, and hate, and scorn are bound
    About thee, girdling so, thy lips are dumb;
    And Fame, ah Fame! her towers are but a tomb--
  Star-set on dwindling heights of starry ground.

  "And thou art done and being done must die,
    Endeavor being dead and energy
    Slain, a wild bird that beat bars to be free,
  Despairing perished, finding life a lie."

VI.

  If thou wouldst know the Beautiful that breathes
    Consanguined with young Earth, go seek!--but seek
  No sighing Shadows with dead hemlock-wreaths,
    No sleepy Sorrows whose wan eyes are weak
  With vanished vigils, Melancholy made,
  Forlorn, in lands of sin and saddening shade;
  No tearful Angers torn of truthless Love,
    Who stab their own hearts to dull daggers' hilts
  For vengeance sweet; no miser Moods that fade
  In owlet towers. Such it springs above,
    And buds on morning meads no flower that wilts.

  If thou dost seek the Beautiful, beware!
    Lest thou discover her, nor know 'tis she;
  And she enslave thee evermore, and there
    Reward thee with but kingliest beggary:
  Make thine the robust red her cheek that stings;
  The kiss-sweet odor, thine, her wild breath brings;
  Make thine the broad bloom of her crownéd brow;
    The hearts of light that ardor her proud eyes;
  That melody,--which is herself,--that sings
  The poem of her presence and the vow,
    That stars exalts and mortals deifies.

  Lone art thou then, lone as the lone first star
    Kindling pale beauty o'er the mournful wave;
  Lost to all happiness save searching far
    Thro' lands of Life where Death hath delved no grave:
  Lost,--even as I,--a devotee to her,
  Poor in world-blessedness her bliss to share,
  But rich in passion.--For her hermitage
    Hope no Hydaspes' splendor, for it lies
  Mossy by woody waters hidden, where
  She, priestess pure, wise o'er all Wisdom sage,
    Shrines artists' hearts for godliest sacrifice.

VII.

  1

  Then up the orient heights to the zenith that balanced a crescent,--
  Up and far up and over,--a warm erubescence liquescent
  Rioted roses and rubies; eruptions of opaline gems,
  Flung and wide sown, blushed crushed, and crumbled from diadems
  Wealth of the kings of the Sylphs; whence, old alchemist, Earth--
  Dewed down--by chemistry occult fashions petrified waters of
          worth.--
  Then out of the stain and rash furor, the passionate pulver of
          stone,
  The trembling suffusion that dazzled and awfully shone,
  Chamelion-convulsion of color, hilarious ranges of glare--
  Like a god who for vengeance ires, nodding battle from every hair,
  Fares forth with majesty girdled and clangs with hot heroes for
          life,
  Till the brazen gates boom bursten hells and the walls roar
          bristling strife,--
  Athwart with a stab of glittering fire, in-plunged like a knife,
  Cut billowing gold, in bullion rolled, and an army driven,
  Routed, the stars fled shriveled; and the white moon riven,
  Puffed,--like a foam-feather forth of a Triton's conch when
          sounded,--
  Clung, vague as a web, on heaven; then weak as a face that is
          wounded
  Died on the withering clouds and sorrowed with them and mingled.
  While up and up with a steadiness and triumph of sparkle that
          tingled,
  Wrestled the tempest of Dawn, that hurricaned heaven with spangle,
  And halcyon bloom like mercy,--a shatter, a scatter, a tangle
  Of labyrinthed glory.--O God! with manifold mirth
  The hallelujah of Heaven, hosanna of Earth.

  2.

  And I in my vision imprisoned was restless and wan
  With a yearning for vigor to gird and be gone
  Out of false dreams to the true--realities noble of dawn.

VIII.

  1

  Vanishing visions, whose lineaments steal into slumbers,
  Loosened the lids of the sight the night that encumbers;
  Secretly, sweetly with fingers of fog that were slow,
            Slow as a song that mysterious
            Passions the soul, till delirious,
  Wrapped in mad melody mastering the uttermost woe,
  Deep to the innermost deep it is shaken
            Ruffled and rippled and tossed,
  Tantalized, terrorized, cursed with a thirst that, unslaken,
  Debauches with eyes that burn stolid, yet only shall waken
            With infinite scorn of the cost
            If no note of the rhapsody's lost.

  2.

  Oh, for the music of moonbeams that master and sweep
            Chords of the resonant deep!
  Smiting loud lyres of Night, sonorous as fire,
  Leap fluttering fingers of vanquishing flash and of flake
  Fain at each firmament-universe-instrument star-strung.
  Vibrating-vestured in garments of woven desire,
  Stoop to me, breathe on me, smile on me, waver, "_Awake!
  From waking to sleeping, to silence from manifold clamor,
  To revelous regions of multiform glamour!_"
            Murmur and whisper "_Awake!_"
  Oh, necromance banquets by fountains of fairy, the spar-sprung!
  Oh, sorcerous beauties and wonders of wizards! oh take
            The millions of morning-spun gleams,
            All glitters of galloping streams,
  The glimmer the gasp the clutch and the grasp,
  That colorless crystals and virtuous jewels
            As spasmodic fuels
            Cuddle and huddle and clasp:
  The wrinkle and crinkle of scintillant heat in white metals;
  The quiver of terrible gold and the pearly
  Lithe brilliance of soft, holy petals,
  Of slender, sad blossoms, tumultuous tossed crispy and curly
  In shadowy reaches of violet dark;
  The burn of the stars and the spark
  Fragile of foams that are fluted, to make
            One cordial of dreams
            To drink and to sink
          Deep, deep into dreams nor awake.

IX

  1

  As to a Nymph in the ripple-ribbed body of ocean,
  Down, down thro' vast stories of water, a hiss and devour
  Electrify altitudes orbed,--pulses violent motion
  Of Thunder, who treads the brute neck of the seas in his power,
  Till their spine writhes lumped into waves,--the Nymph in her bower,
  Rubbing moist sleep from her eyes, arises,--
          Loosens the loops of her locks,
  Loosens, and suddenly darts on the storm and surprises
          The boisterous bands of the rocks,
  That hoot to the riddling arrows of rain and of seas,
          Mountainous these;--
          Swirling and whirling,
  She of the huge exultation beheld, with long tresses,
  Dotted with bells of the hollow, hard foam, flung streaming,
  Dives, bounds to the whirlwind embracing; then mockingly presses
  Hair to wild face and wild throat, drifts desolate dreaming;
  With scorn then laughing and screaming,
  Discovers full beauty of nakedness leaping and gleaming;
  And showering the rain from her hair,
  Pouts blown, curdled foam from her lips,
          And eddying slips,
  From the ravenous eyes of the Thunder that glare,
          Away, away,
  To the arms of her lover the Spray.
          So I,--
  At swift thoughts that were spoken, that came
  As if winds had fashioned a speech--was a flame
  That dwindled, was kindled, then mounted and,
          Marvelling why,--
  Stemming all thought, a gleam out of gleams
          Was born into dreams.

  2.

  Beautiful-bosomed, O Night! with thy moon,
  Move in majesty slowly to majesty lightly!
  Silent as sleep, who is lulled by a delicate tune,
  O'er-stroke thou the air with a languor of moonlight brightly!
  Thin ice, in sockets of turquoise fastened, the stars
  Gash golden the bosom of heaven with fiery scars.
          Swoon down, O shadowy hosts,
          O multitude ghosts,
  Of the moonlight and starlight begotten!--Then swept
  Whispers that sighed to me, sorrows that stealthily hovered,
  Laughters with lips that were mist. And murmurings crept
  On toward me feet that were glow; and faces uncovered,
          Radiant and crystalline clear,
  In tortuous, sinuous swirl of vapory pearl,
          Waned near and more near.
  Flashed faster a spiral of shapes and of shadows still faster,
  On in a whirl of unutterable beauties by music expired,
          That lived and desired,--
  Born births of the brain of a rhapsody-reveling master;
          And mine eyes, with their beauties infired,
  Smiled scorn on dark Death and Disaster.

X.

  "Ah! now the orchard's leaves are sear,
    Drip not with starlight-litten dew;
  Green-drowned no moon-bright fruit hangs here;
    Dead, dead your long, white lilies too--
    And you, Allita, where are you!"

  Then comes her dim touch, faintly warm;
    Cool hair sense on my feverish cheek;
  Dim eyes at mine deep with some charm,--
    So gray! so gray! and I am weak
    Weak with wild tears and can not speak.

  I am as one who walks with dreams:
    Sees as in youth his father's home;
  Hears from his native mountain-streams
    Far music of continual foam.

DEAD AND GONE.

  I wot well o' his going
    To think in flowers fair;--
  His a right kind heart, my dear,
    To give the grass such hair.

II.

  I wot well o' his lying
    Such nights out in the cold,--
  To list the cricket's crick, my sweet,
    To see the glow-worm's gold.

III.

  An mine eyes be laughterful,
    Well may they laugh, I trow,--
  Since two dead eyes a yesternight
    Gazed in them sad enow.

IV.

  An my heart make moan and ache,
    Well may it dree, I'm sure;--
  He is dead and gone, my love,
    And it is beggar poor.

A MABINOGI.

  In samite sark yclad was she;
    And that fair glimmerish band of gold
  Which crowned long, savage locks of hair
          In the moon brent cold.

  She with big eyeballs gloomed and glowered,
    And lightly hummed some Elfin's song,
  And one could naught save on her stare
          And fare along.

  Yea; sad and lute-like was that song
    And softly said its mystery;
  Which quaintly sang in elden verse
          "Thy love I'll be."

  And oft it said: "I love thee true,
    Sir Ewain, champion of the fair."
  And never wist he what a witch
          Was that one there.

  And never wist he that a witch
    Had bound him with her wily hair,
  Eke with dark art had ta'en his heart
          To slay him there.

  And all his soul did wax amort
    To stars, to hills, to slades, to streams,
  And it but held that sorceress fair
          As one of dreams.

  And now he kens some castle gray
    Wild turrets ivied, in the moon,
  Old, where through woodlands foaming on
          A torrent shone....

  In its high hall full twenty knights
    With visors barred all sternly stand;
  The following of some gracious brave,
          Lord of the land.

  And lo! when that dim damosel
    Moved down the hall, they louted low;
  And she was queen of all that band,
          That dame of snow.

  Now on that knight she stared eftsoons,
    And cried on high unto her crew,
  "Behold! Sir Knights, the dastard brave
          Your king that slew."

  And all those heathen knights wox wild
    Attonce; and all against him drave;
  Long battle blades and daggers bright
          Aloft did wave.

  The press on him puissant bare
    And smote him to the rush-strown earth;--
  Tall, tall o'er all that Fairy rose
          Aloud with mirth.

GENIUS LOCI.

I.

  What deity for dozing laziness
    Devised the lounging coziness of this
  Enchanted nook?--and how!--did I distress
    His musing ease that fled but now, or his
  Laughed frolic with some forest-sister, fair
  As those wild hill-carnations are and rare?
  Too true, alas!--Feel! the wild moss is warm
    And moist with late reclining, as the palm
    Of what hot Hamadryad, who, a-nap,
  Props her hale cheek upon it, while her arm
    Weak wind-flowers bury; in her hair the balm
    Of a whole Spring of blossoms and of sap?

II.

  See, how the dented moss, that pads the hump
    Of these distorted roots, elastic springs
  From that god's late departure; lump by lump,
    Pale tufts impressed twitch loose in nervous rings,
  As crowding stars qualm thro' gray evening skies.
  Indulgence grant thou my profane surprise,
  Pray!--then to dream where thou didst dream before,
    Benevolent! ... here where the veiny leaves
    Bask broad the fuzzy bosoms of their hands
  O'er wistful waters: 'neath this sycamore,
    Smooth, giraffe-brindled, where each ripple weaves
    A twinkling quiver as of marching bands

III.

  Of Elfin chivalry, that, helmed with gold,
    Split spilled the scaley sunbeams wrinkled off.
  What brought thee here?--This wind that steals the old
    Weird legends from the forests, with a scoff
  To laugh them thro' their beards? Or, in those weeds,
  The hermit brook so busy with his beads?--
  How many _Aves_, _Paters_ doth he say
    In one droned minute on his rosary
    Of bubbles--wot'st thou?--Pucker-eyed didst mark
  Yon lank hag-tapers, yellow by yon way,
    A haggard company of seven?--See
    How dry swim by such curled brown bits of bark?

IV.

  Didst mark the ghostly gold of this grave, still,
    Conceited minnow thro' these twisted roots,
  Thrust o'er the smoky topaz of this rill,
    Dull-slumbering here? Or did those insect flutes--
  Sleepy with sunshine--buzz thee that forlorn
  Tale of Tithonus and the bashful Morn?
  Until two tears gleamed in the stealing stream
    Trembling its polish o'er the winking grail?--
    Nay! didst perplex thee with some poet plan
  To drug this air with beauty to make dream,--
    Ah, discreet Cunning, watching in yon vale!--
    Me, wildwood-wandered from the marts of Man!

Transcriber's Note:

There are some strange words, which have been retained, as the author
may have been using 'poetic licence':

e.g. 'aventured spears', which may have been quartz-tipped (aventurine);
'beryle', possibly referring to the color of beryl (light green, etc.);
'bowldered', alternative spelling for 'bouldered'; 'guant', which may be
'gaunt misspelled, or it may refer to a bird (guan)... "Laughed the
guant guards among the crowd"; etc. And 'accompaning' still needs to
elide the second 'a' to fit the metre.

Some words are obviously ancient, or dialectic, and some are akin to
some of the words in the poetry of Gerard Manley Hopkins.
The transcriber prefers not to change anything the author wrote, as a
slightly different spelling may also imply a slightly different
inflexion.

There are, however, two probable printer's errors, which have been
amended:

Page 129: 'passsion' corrected to 'passion': "To principles of passion
and of pride,"

Page 154: Removed extraneous 'the':
  "That hoot to the (the) riddling arrows of rain and of seas,"