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A Letter To A Friend

The past is like a story
I have listened to in dreams
That vanished in the glory
Of the Morning's early gleams;
And--at my shadow glancing--
I feel a loss of strength,
As the Day of Life advancing
Leaves it shorn of half its length.


But it's all in vain to worry
At the rapid race of Time--
And he flies in such a flurry
When I trip him with a rhyme,
I'll bother him no longer
Than to thank you for the thought
That 'my fame is growing stronger
As you really think it ought.'


And though I fall below it,
I might know as much of mirth
To live and die a poet
Of unacknowledged worth;
For Fame is but a vagrant--
Though a loyal one and brave,
And his laurels ne'er so fragrant
As when scattered o'er the grave.

A Letter To A Friend

The past is like a story
I have listened to in dreams
That vanished in the glory
Of the Morning's early gleams;
And--at my shadow glancing--
I feel a loss of strength,
As the Day of Life advancing
Leaves it shorn of half its length.


But it's all in vain to worry
At the rapid race of Time--
And he flies in such a flurry
When I trip him with a rhyme,
I'll bother him no longer
Than to thank you for the thought
That 'my fame is growing stronger
As you really think it ought.'


And though I fall below it,
I might know as much of mirth
To live and die a poet
Of unacknowledged worth;
For Fame is but a vagrant--
Though a loyal one and brave,
And his laurels ne'er so fragrant
As when scattered o'er the grave.

A Dream Of Long Ago

Lying listless in the mosses
Underneath a tree that tosses
Flakes of sunshine, and embosses
Its green shadow with the snow-Drowsy-
eyed, I sink in slumber
Born of fancies without number--
Tangled fancies that encumber
Me with dreams of long ago.


Ripples of the river singing;
And the water-lilies swinging
Bells of Parian, and ringing
Peals of perfume faint and fine,
While old forms and fairy faces
Leap from out their hiding-places
In the past, with glad embraces
Fraught with kisses sweet as wine.


Willows dip their slender fingers
O'er the little fisher's stringers,
While he baits his hook and lingers
Till the shadows gather dim;
And afar off comes a calling
Like the sounds of water falling,
With the lazy echoes drawling
Messages of haste to him.


Little naked feet that tinkle
Through the stubble-fields, and twinkle
Down the winding road, and sprinkle
Little mists of dusty rain,
While in pasture-lands the cattle
Cease their grazing with a rattle
Of the bells whose clappers tattle
To their masters down the lane.


Trees that hold their tempting treasures
O'er the orchard's hedge embrasures,
Furnish their forbidden pleasures
As in Eden lands of old;
And the coming of the master
Indicates a like disaster
To the frightened heart that faster
Beats pulsations manifold.


Puckered lips whose pipings tingle
In staccato notes that mingle
Musically with the jingle-
Haunted winds that lightly fan
Mellow twilights, crimson-tinted
By the sun, and picture-printed
Like a book that sweetly hinted



Of the Nights Arabian.

Porticoes with columns plaited
And entwined with vines and freighted
With a bloom all radiated
With the light of moon and star;
Where some tender voice is winging
In sad flights of song, and singing
To the dancing fingers flinging
Dripping from the sweet guitar.

Would my dreams were never taken
From me: that with faith unshaken
I might sleep and never waken
On a weary world of woe!
Links of love would never sever
As I dreamed them, never, never!
I would glide along forever
Through the dreams of long ago.

A Feel In The Chris'mas-Air

They's a kind o' _feel_ in the air, to me.
When the Chris'mas-times sets in.
That's about as much of a mystery
As ever I've run ag'in!--
Fer instunce, now, whilse I gain in weight
And gineral health, I swear
They's a _goneness_ somers I can't quite state--
A kind o' _feel_ in the air.

They's a feel in the Chris'mas-air goes right
To the spot where a man _lives_ at!--
It gives a feller a' appetite--
They ain't no doubt about _that_!--
And yit they's _somepin_'--I don't know what--
That follers me, here and there,
And ha'nts and worries and spares me not--
A kind o' feel in the air!

They's a _feel_, as I say, in the air that's jest
As blame-don sad as sweet!--
In the same ra-sho as I feel the best
And am spryest on my feet,
They's allus a kind o' sort of a' _ache_
That I can't lo-cate no-where;--
But it comes with _Chris'mas_, and no mistake!--
A kind o' feel in the air.

Is it the racket the childern raise?-W'y,
_no_!--God bless 'em!--_no_!--
Is it the eyes and the cheeks ablaze--
Like my _own_ wuz, long ago?--
Is it the bleat o' the whistle and beat
O' the little toy-drum and blare
O' the horn?--_No! no!_--it is jest the sweet--
The sad-sweet feel in the air.

A Dream

I dreamed I was a spider;
A big, fat, hungry spider;
A lusty, rusty spider
With a dozen palsied limbs;
With a dozen limbs that dangled
Where three wretched flies were tangled
And their buzzing wings were strangled
In the middle of their hymns.


And I mocked them like a demon--
A demoniacal demon
Who delights to be a demon
For the sake of sin alone;
And with fondly false embraces
Did I weave my mystic laces
Round their horror-stricken faces
Till I muffled every groan.


And I smiled to see them weeping,
For to see an insect weeping,
Sadly, sorrowfully weeping,
Fattens every spider's mirth;
And to note a fly's heart quaking,
And with anguish ever aching
Till you see it slowly breaking
Is the sweetest thing on earth.


I experienced a pleasure,
Such a highly-flavored pleasure,
Such intoxicating pleasure,
That I drank of it like wine;
And my mortal soul engages
That no spider on the pages
Of the history of ages
Felt a rapture more divine.


I careened around and capered--
Madly, mystically capered--
For three days and nights I capered
Round my web in wild delight;
Till with fierce ambition burning,
And an inward thirst and yearning
I hastened my returning
With a fiendish appetite.


And I found my victims dying,
'Ha!' they whispered, 'we are dying!'
Faintly whispered, 'we are dying,
And our earthly course is run.'
And the scene was so impressing
That I breathed a special blessing,
As I killed them with caressing



And devoured them one by one.

A Discouraging Model

Just the airiest, fairiest slip of a thing,
With a Gainsborough hat, like a butterfly's wing,
Tilted up at one side with the jauntiest air,
And a knot of red roses sown in under there
Where the shadows are lost in her hair.


Then a cameo face, carven in on a ground
Of that shadowy hair where the roses are wound;
And the gleam of a smile, O as fair and as faint
And as sweet as the master of old used to paint
Round the lips of their favorite saint!


And that lace at her throat-- and fluttering hands
Snowing there, with a grace that no art understands,
The flakes of their touches-- first fluttering at
The bow-- then the roses-- the hair and then that
Little tilt of the Gainsborough hat.


Ah, what artist on earth with a model like this,
Holding not on his palette the tint of a kiss,
Nor a pigment to hint of the hue of her hair
Nor the gold of her smile-- O what artist could dare
To expect a result half so fair?

A Discouraging Model

Just the airiest, fairiest slip of a thing,
With a Gainsborough hat, like a butterfly's wing,
Tilted up at one side with the jauntiest air,
And a knot of red roses sown in under there
Where the shadows are lost in her hair.


Then a cameo face, carven in on a ground
Of that shadowy hair where the roses are wound;
And the gleam of a smile, O as fair and as faint
And as sweet as the master of old used to paint
Round the lips of their favorite saint!


And that lace at her throat-- and fluttering hands
Snowing there, with a grace that no art understands,
The flakes of their touches-- first fluttering at
The bow-- then the roses-- the hair and then that
Little tilt of the Gainsborough hat.


Ah, what artist on earth with a model like this,
Holding not on his palette the tint of a kiss,
Nor a pigment to hint of the hue of her hair
Nor the gold of her smile-- O what artist could dare
To expect a result half so fair?

The Twilight Turns

The twilight turns from amethyst
To deep and deeper blue,
The lamp fills with a pale green glow
The trees of the avenue.


The old piano plays an air,
Sedate and slow and gay;
She bends upon the yellow keys,
Her head inclines this way.


Shy thought and grave wide eyes and hands
That wander as they list -- -
The twilight turns to darker blue
With lights of amethyst.

Strings in the Earth and Air

Strings in the earth and air
Make music sweet;
Strings by the river where
The willows meet.


There's music along the river
For Love wanders there,
Pale flowers on his mantle,
Dark leaves on his hair.


All softly playing,
With head to the music bent,
And fingers straying
Upon an instrument.

Sleep Now, O Sleep Now

Sleep now, O sleep now,
O you unquiet heart!
A voice crying "Sleep now"
Is heard in my heart.


The voice of the winter
Is heard at the door.
O sleep, for the winter
Is crying "Sleep no more."


My kiss will give peace now
And quiet to your heart -- -
Sleep on in peace now,
O you unquiet heart!

Silently She's Combing

Silently she's combing,
Combing her long hair
Silently and graciously,
With many a pretty air.


The sun is in the willow leaves
And on the dappled grass,
And still she's combing her long hair
Before the looking-glass.


I pray you, cease to comb out,
Comb out your long hair,
For I have heard of witchery
Under a pretty air,


That makes as one thing to the lover
Staying and going hence,
All fair, with many a pretty air
And many a negligence.

Of That So Sweet Imprisonment

Of that so sweet imprisonment
My soul, dearest, is fain -- -
Soft arms that woo me to relent
And woo me to detain.
Ah, could they ever hold me there
Gladly were I a prisoner!


Dearest, through interwoven arms
By love made tremulous,
That night allures me where alarms
Nowise may trouble us;
But lseep to dreamier sleep be wed
Where soul with soul lies prisoned.

Rain Has Fallen All the Day

Rain has fallen all the day.
O come among the laden trees:
The leaves lie thick upon the way
Of memories.


Staying a little by the way
Of memories shall we depart.
Come, my beloved, where I may
Speak to your heart.

O Sweetheart, Hear You

O Sweetheart, hear you
Your lover's tale;
A man shall have sorrow
When friends him fail.


For he shall know then
Friends be untrue
And a little ashes
Their words come to.


But one unto him
Will softly move
And softly woo him
In ways of love.


His hand is under
Her smooth round breast;
So he who has sorrow
Shall have rest.

Now, O Now in This Brown Land

Now, O now, in this brown land
Where Love did so sweet music make
We two shall wander, hand in hand,
Forbearing for old friendship' sake,
Nor grieve because our love was gay
Which now is ended in this way.


A rogue in red and yellow dress
Is knocking, knocking at the tree;
And all around our loneliness
The wind is whistling merrily.
The leaves -- - they do not sigh at all
When the year takes them in the fall.


Now, O now, we hear no more
The vilanelle and roundelay!
Yet will we kiss, sweetheart, before
We take sad leave at close of day.
Grieve not, sweetheart, for anything -- -
The year, the year is gathering.

My Love Is in a Light Attire

My love is in a light attire
Among the apple-trees,
Where the gay winds do most desire
To run in companies.


There, where the gay winds stay to woo
The young leaves as they pass,
My love goes slowly, bending to
Her shadow on the grass;


And where the sky's a pale blue cup
Over the laughing land,
My love goes lightly, holding up
Her dress with dainty hand.

My Love Is in a Light Attire

My love is in a light attire
Among the apple-trees,
Where the gay winds do most desire
To run in companies.


There, where the gay winds stay to woo
The young leaves as they pass,
My love goes slowly, bending to
Her shadow on the grass;


And where the sky's a pale blue cup
Over the laughing land,
My love goes lightly, holding up
Her dress with dainty hand.

Love Came to Us

Love came to us in time gone by
When one at twilight shyly played
And one in fear was standing nigh -- -
For Love at first is all afraid.


We were grave lovers. Love is past
That had his sweet hours many a one;
Welcome to us now at the last
The ways that we shall go upon.

I Would in That Sweet Bosom Be

I would in that sweet bosom be
(O sweet it is and fair it is!)
Where no rude wind might visit me.
Because of sad austerities
I would in that sweet bosom be.


I would be ever in that heart
(O soft I knock and soft entreat her!)
Where only peace might be my part.
Austerities were all the sweeter
So I were ever in that heart.

Lean Out of the Window

Lean out of the window,
Goldenhair,
I hear you singing
A merry air.


My book was closed,
I read no more,
Watching the fire dance
On the floor.


I have left my book,
I have left my room,
For I heard you singing
Through the gloom.


Singing and singing
A merry air,
Lean out of the window,
Goldenhair.

He Who Hath Glory Lost

He who hath glory lost, nor hath
Found any soul to fellow his,
Among his foes in scorn and wrath
Holding to ancient nobleness,
That high unconsortable one ---
His love is his companion.

A Flower Given to My Daughter

Frail the white rose and frail are
Her hands that gave
Whose soul is sere and paler
Than time's wan wave.


Rosefrail and fair -- yet frailest
A wonder wild
In gentle eyes thou veilest,
My blueveined child.

A Flower Given to My Daughter

Frail the white rose and frail are
Her hands that gave
Whose soul is sere and paler
Than time's wan wave.


Rosefrail and fair -- yet frailest
A wonder wild
In gentle eyes thou veilest,
My blueveined child.

Trees


But a tree has

a long suffering shapeIs
spread in half
by 2 limbed fate

Rises from gray rain
pavements
To traffic in the bleak

brown air
Of cities radar television
nameless dumb &numb mis connicumb
Throwing twigs the
color of ink To white souled
heaven, with
A reality of its own uses