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Times change. Man's fortune prospers, or it falls.

Change harbors not in those eternal halls



And tranquilchamber where Tithonus lies.

But through his window there the eastern skies



Fall palely fair to the dim ocean's end.

There, in blue mist where air and ocean blend,



The lazy clouds that sail the wide world o'er

Falter and turn where they can sail no more.



There singing groves, there spacious gardens blow --

Cedars and silver poplars, row on row,



Through whose black boughs on her appointed night,

Flooding his chamber with enchanted light,



Lifts the full moon's immeasurable sphere,

Crimson and huge and wonderfully near.



An Ode to Antares

At dusk, when lowlands where dark waters glide



Robe in gray mist, and through the greening hills

The hoot-owl calls his mate, and whippoorwills



Clamor from every copse and orchard-side,

I watched the red star rising in the East,



And while his fellows of the flaming sign

From prisoning daylight more and more released,



Lift their pale lamps, and, climbing higher, higher,

Out of their locks the waters of the Line



Shaking in clouds of phosphorescent fire,

Rose in the splendor of their curving flight,



Their dolphin leap across the austral night,

From windows southwardopening on the sea



What eyes, I wondered, might be watching, too,

Orbed in some blossom-laden balcony.



Where, from the garden to the rail above,

As though a lover's greeting to his love



Should borrow body and form and hue

And tower in torrents of floral flame,



The crimson bougainvillea grew,

What starlit brow uplifted to the same



Majestic regress of the summering sky,

What ultimate thing -- hushed, holy, throned as high



Above the currents that tarnish and profane

As silver summits are whose pure repose



No curious eyes disclose

Nor any footfalls stain,



But round their beauty on azure evenings

Only the oreads go on gauzy wings,



Only the oreads troop with dance and song

And airy beings in rainbow mists who throng



Out of those wonderful worlds that lie afar

Betwixt the outmost cloud and the nearest star.



Like the moon, sanguine in the orient night

Shines the red flower in her beautiful hair.



Her breasts are distant islands of delight

Upon a sea where all is soft and fair.



Those robes that make a silken sheath

For each lithe attitude that flows beneath,



Shrouding in scented folds sweet warmths and tumid flowers,

Call them far clouds that half emerge



Beyond a sunset ocean's utmost verge,

Hiding in purple shade and downpour of soft showers



Enchanted isles by mortal foot untrod,

And there in humid dells resplendent orchids nod;



There always from serene horizons blow

Soul-easing gales and there all spice-trees grow



That Phoenix robbed to line his fragrant nest

Each hundred years in Araby the Blest.



Star of the South that now through orient mist

At nightfall off Tampico or Belize



Greetest the sailor rising from those seas

Where first in me, a fond romanticist,



The tropicsunset's bloom on cloudy piles

Cast out industrious cares with dreams of fabulous isles --



Thou lamp of the swart lover to his tryst,

O'er planted acres at the jungle's rim



Reeking with orange-flower and tuberose,




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