Being ourselves the sowers and the seeds, The night that covers and the lights that fade, The spear that pierces and the side that bleeds, The lips betraying and the life betrayed; The deep hath calm: the moon hath rest: but we Lords of the natural world are yet our own dread enemy.

Is this the end of all that primal force Which, in its changes being still the same, From eyeless Chaos cleft its upward course, Through ravenous seas and whirling rocks and flame, Till the suns met in heaven and began Their cycles, and the morning stars sang, and the Word was Man!

Nay, nay, we are but crucified, and though The b.l.o.o.d.y sweat falls from our brows like rain Loosen the nails - we shall come down I know, Staunch the red wounds - we shall be whole again, No need have we of hyssop-laden rod, That which is purely human, that is G.o.dlike, that is G.o.d.

LOUIS NAPOLEON

Eagle of Austerlitz! where were thy wings When far away upon a barbarous strand, In fight unequal, by an obscure hand, Fell the last scion of thy brood of Kings!

Poor boy! thou shalt not flaunt thy cloak of red, Or ride in state through Paris in the van Of thy returning legions, but instead Thy mother France, free and republican,

Shall on thy dead and crownless forehead place The better laurels of a soldier's crown, That not dishonoured should thy soul go down To tell the mighty Sire of thy race

That France hath kissed the mouth of Liberty, And found it sweeter than his honied bees, And that the giant wave Democracy Breaks on the sh.o.r.es where Kings lay couched at ease.

ENDYMION (For music)

The apple trees are hung with gold, And birds are loud in Arcady, The sheep lie bleating in the fold, The wild goat runs across the wold, But yesterday his love he told, I know he will come back to me.

O rising moon! O Lady moon!

Be you my lover's sentinel, You cannot choose but know him well, For he is shod with purple shoon, You cannot choose but know my love, For he a shepherd's crook doth bear, And he is soft as any dove, And brown and curly is his hair.

The turtle now has ceased to call Upon her crimson-footed groom, The grey wolf prowls about the stall, The lily's singing seneschal Sleeps in the lily-bell, and all The violet hills are lost in gloom.

O risen moon! O holy moon!

Stand on the top of Helice, And if my own true love you see, Ah! if you see the purple shoon, The hazel crook, the lad's brown hair, The goat-skin wrapped about his arm, Tell him that I am waiting where The rushlight glimmers in the Farm.

The falling dew is cold and chill, And no bird sings in Arcady, The little fauns have left the hill, Even the tired daffodil Has closed its gilded doors, and still My lover comes not back to me.

False moon! False moon! O waning moon!

Where is my own true lover gone, Where are the lips vermilion, The shepherd's crook, the purple shoon?

Why spread that silver pavilion, Why wear that veil of drifting mist?

Ah! thou hast young Endymion Thou hast the lips that should be kissed!

LE JARDIN

The lily's withered chalice falls Around its rod of dusty gold, And from the beech-trees on the wold The last wood-pigeon coos and calls.

The gaudy leonine sunflower Hangs black and barren on its stalk, And down the windy garden walk The dead leaves scatter, - hour by hour.

Pale privet-petals white as milk Are blown into a snowy ma.s.s: The roses lie upon the gra.s.s Like little shreds of crimson silk.

LA MER

A white mist drifts across the shrouds, A wild moon in this wintry sky Gleams like an angry lion's eye Out of a mane of tawny clouds.

The m.u.f.fled steersman at the wheel Is but a shadow in the gloom; - And in the throbbing engine-room Leap the long rods of polished steel.

The shattered storm has left its trace Upon this huge and heaving dome, For the thin threads of yellow foam Float on the waves like ravelled lace.

LE PANNEAU

Under the rose-tree's dancing shade There stands a little ivory girl, Pulling the leaves of pink and pearl With pale green nails of polished jade.

The red leaves fall upon the mould, The white leaves flutter, one by one, Down to a blue bowl where the sun, Like a great dragon, writhes in gold.

The white leaves float upon the air, The red leaves flutter idly down, Some fall upon her yellow gown, And some upon her raven hair.

She takes an amber lute and sings, And as she sings a silver crane Begins his scarlet neck to strain, And flap his burnished metal wings.

She takes a lute of amber bright, And from the thicket where he lies Her lover, with his almond eyes, Watches her movements in delight.

And now she gives a cry of fear, And tiny tears begin to start: A thorn has wounded with its dart The pink-veined sea-sh.e.l.l of her ear.

And now she laughs a merry note: There has fallen a petal of the rose Just where the yellow satin shows The blue-veined flower of her throat.

With pale green nails of polished jade, Pulling the leaves of pink and pearl, There stands a little ivory girl Under the rose-tree's dancing shade.

LES BALLONS

Against these turbid turquoise skies The light and luminous balloons Dip and drift like satin moons Drift like silken b.u.t.terflies;

Reel with every windy gust, Rise and reel like dancing girls, Float like strange transparent pearls, Fall and float like silver dust.

Now to the low leaves they cling, Each with coy fantastic pose, Each a petal of a rose Straining at a gossamer string.

Then to the tall trees they climb, Like thin globes of amethyst, Wandering opals keeping tryst With the rubies of the lime.