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Might linger there until thro' heaven's bars,

It heard God's voice that bade it down to earth.
Love and Death

Shall we, too, rise forgetful from our sleep,
And shall my soul that lies within your hand

Remember nothing, as the blowing sand
Forgets the palm where long blue shadows creep

When winds along the darkened desert sweep?
Or would it still remember, tho' it spanned

A thousand heavens, while the planets fanned
The vacant ether with their voices deep?

Soul of my soul, no word shall be forgot,
Nor yet alone, beloved, shall we see

The desolation of extinguished suns,
Nor fear the void wherethro' our planet runs,

For still together shall we go and not
Fare forth alone to front eternity.

For the Anniversary of John Keats' Death
(February 23, 1821)

At midnight when the moonlitcypress trees
Have woven round his grave a magic shade,

Still weeping the unfinished hymn he made,
There moves fresh Maia like a morning breeze

Blown over jonquil beds when warm rains cease.
And stooping where her poet's head is laid,

Selene weeps while all the tides are stayed
And swaying seas are darkened into peace.

But they who wake the meadows and the tides
Have hearts too kind to bid him wake from sleep

Who murmurs sometimes when his dreams are deep,
Startling the Quiet Land where he abides,

And charming still, sad-eyed Persephone
With visions of the sunny earth and sea.

Silence
(To Eleonora Duse)

We are anhungered after solitude,
Deep stillness pure of any speech or sound,

Soft quiet hovering over pools profound,
The silences that on the desert brood,

Above a windless hush of empty seas,
The broad unfurling banners of the dawn,

A faery forest where there sleeps a Faun;
Our souls are fain of solitudes like these.

O woman who divined our weariness,
And set the crown of silence on your art,

From what undreamed-of depth within your heart
Have you sent forth the hush that makes us free

To hear an instant, high above earth's stress,
The silent music of infinity?

The Return
I turned the key and opened wide the door

To enter my deserted room again,
Where thro' the long hot months the dust had lain.

Was it not lonely when across the floor
No step was heard, no sudden song that bore

My whole heart upward with a joyous pain?
Were not the pictures and the volumes fain

To have me with them always as before?
But Giorgione's Venus did not deign

To lift her lids, nor did the subtle smile
Of Mona Lisa deepen. Madeleine

Still wept against the glory of her hair,
Nor did the lovers part their lips the while,

But kissed unheeding that I watched them there.
Fear

I am afraid, oh I am so afraid!
The cold black fear is clutching me to-night

As long ago when they would take the light
And leave the little child who would have prayed,

Frozen and sleepless at the thought of death.
My heart that beats too fast will rest too soon;

I shall not know if it be night or noon, --
Yet shall I struggle in the dark for breath?

Will no one fight the Terror for my sake,
The heavy darkness that no dawn will break?

How can they leave me in that dark alone,
Who loved the joy of light and warmth so much,

And thrilled so with the sense of sound and touch, --
How can they shut me underneath a stone?

Anadyomene
The wide, bright temple of the world I found,

And entered from the dizzy infinite
That I might kneel and worship thee in it;

Leaving the singing stars their ceaseless round
Of silver music sound on orbed sound,

For measured spaces where the shrines are lit,
And men with wisdom or with little wit

Implore the gods that mercy may abound.
Ah, Aphrodite, was it not from thee

My summons came across the endless spaces?
Mother of Love, turn not thy face from me

Now that I seek for thee in human faces;
Answer my prayer or set my spirit free

Again to drift along the starry places.
Galahad in the Castle of the Maidens

(To the maiden with the hidden face in Abbey's painting)
The other maidens raised their eyes to him

Who stumbled in before them when the fight
Had left him victor, with a victor's right.

I think his eyes with quick hot tears grew dim;
He scarcely saw her swaying white and slim,

And trembling slightly, dreaming of his might,
Nor knew he touched her hand, as strangely light

As a wan wraith's beside a river's rim.
The other maidens raised their eyes to see

And only she has hid her face away,
And yet I ween she loved him more than they,

And very fairly fashioned was her face.
Yet for Love's shame and sweet humility,

She dared not meet him with their queenlike grace.
To an Aeolian Harp

The winds have grown articulate in thee,
And voiced again the wail of ancient woe

That smote upon the winds of long ago:
The cries of Trojan women as they flee,

The quivering moan of pale Andromache,
Now lifted loud with pain and now brought low.

It is the soul of sorrow that we know,
As in a shell the soul of all the sea.

So sometimes in the compass of a song,
Unknown to him who sings, thro' lips that live,

The voiceless dead of long-forgotten lands
Proclaim to us their heaviness and wrong

In sweepingsadness of the winds that give
Thy strings no rest from weariless wild hands.

To Erinna
Was Time not harsh to you, or was he kind,

O pale Erinna of the perfect lyre,
That he has left no word of singing fire

Whereby you waked the dreaming Lesbian wind,
And kindled night along the lyric shore?

O girl whose lips Erato stooped to kiss,
Do you go sorrowing because of this

In fields where poets sing forevermore?
Or are you glad and is it best to be

A silent music men have never heard,
A dream in all our souls that we may say:

"Her voice had all the rapture of the sea,
And all the clear cool quiver of a bird

Deep in a forest at the break of day"?
To Cleis

"I have a fair daughter with a form like a golden flower,
Cleis, the beloved."

Sapphic fragment.
When the dusk was wet with dew,

Cleis, did the muses nine
Listen in a silent line

While your mother sang to you?
Did they weep or did they smile

When she crooned to still your cries,
She, a muse in human guise,

Who forsook her lyre awhile?
Did you feel her wild heart beat?

Did the warmth of all the sun
Thro' your little body run

When she kissed your hands and feet?
Did your fingers, babywise,

Touch her face and touch her hair,
Did you think your mother fair,

Could you bear her burning eyes?
Are the songs that soothed your fears

Vanished like a vanished flame,
Save the line where shines your name

Starlike down the graying years?
Cleis speaks no word to me,

For the land where she has gone
Lieth mute at dusk and dawn

Like a windless tideless sea.
Paris in Spring

The city's all a-shining
Beneath a fickle sun,

A gay young wind's a-blowing,
The little shower is done.

But the rain-drops still are clinging
And falling one by one --

Oh it's Paris, it's Paris,
And spring-time has begun.

I know the Bois is twinkling
In a sort of hazy sheen,

And down the Champs the gray old arch
Stands cold and still between.

But the walk is flecked with sunlight
Where the great acacias lean,

Oh it's Paris, it's Paris,
And the leaves are growing green.

The sun's gone in, the sparkle's dead,
There falls a dash of rain,

But who would care when such an air
Comes blowing up the Seine?

And still Ninette sits sewing
Beside her window-pane,

When it's Paris, it's Paris,
And spring-time's come again.

Madeira from the Sea
Out of the delicate dream of the distance an emerald emerges

Veiled in the violet folds of the air of the sea;
Softly the dream grows awakening -- shimmering white of a city,

Splashes of crimson, the gay bougainvillea, the palms.
High in the infinite blue of its heaven a quiet cloud lingers,

Lost and forgotten of winds that have fallen asleep,
Fallen asleep to the tune of a Portuguese song in a garden.



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