"What shall I bring you?

Please will green do Best for your wearing The long day through?"

"--Green is for mayings, Mayings, mayings, Green is for mayings, And that won't do."

"What shall I bring you Then? Will black do Best for your wearing The long day through?"

"--Black is for mourning, Mourning, mourning, Black is for mourning, And black will do."

MURMURS IN THE GLOOM (NOCTURNE)

I wayfared at the nadir of the sun Where populations meet, though seen of none; And millions seemed to sigh around As though their haunts were nigh around, And unknown throngs to cry around Of things late done.

"O Seers, who well might high ensample show"

(Came throbbing past in plainsong small and slow), "Leaders who lead us aimlessly, Teachers who train us shamelessly, Why let ye smoulder flamelessly The truths ye trow?

"Ye scribes, that urge the old medicament, Whose fusty vials have long dried impotent, Why prop ye meretricious things, Denounce the sane as vicious things, And call outworn fact.i.tious things Expedient?

"O Dynasties that sway and shake us so, Why rank your magnanimities so low That grace can smooth no waters yet, But breathing threats and slaughters yet Ye grieve Earth's sons and daughters yet As long ago?

"Live there no heedful ones of searching sight, Whose accents might be oracles that smite To hinder those who frowardly Conduct us, and untowardly; To lead the nations vawardly From gloom to light?"

September 22, 1899.

EPITAPH

I never cared for Life: Life cared for me, And hence I owed it some fidelity.

It now says, "Cease; at length thou hast learnt to grind Sufficient toll for an unwilling mind, And I dismiss thee--not without regard That thou didst ask no ill-advised reward, Nor sought in me much more than thou couldst find."

AN ANCIENT TO ANCIENTS

Where once we danced, where once sang, Gentlemen, The floors are sunken, cobwebs hang, And cracks creep; worms have fed upon The doors. Yea, sprightlier times were then Than now, with harps and tabrets gone, Gentlemen!

Where once we rowed, where once we sailed, Gentlemen, And damsels took the tiller, veiled Against too strong a stare (G.o.d wot Their fancy, then or anywhen!) Upon that sh.o.r.e we are clean forgot, Gentlemen!

We have lost somewhat, afar and near, Gentlemen, The thinning of our ranks each year Affords a hint we are nigh undone, That we shall not be ever again The marked of many, loved of one, Gentlemen.

In dance the polka hit our wish, Gentlemen, The paced quadrille, the spry schottische, "Sir Roger."--And in opera spheres The "Girl" (the famed "Bohemian"), And "Trovatore," held the ears, Gentlemen.

This season's paintings do not please, Gentlemen, Like Etty, Mulready, Maclise; Throbbing romance has waned and wanned; No wizard wields the witching pen Of Bulwer, Scott, Dumas, and Sand, Gentlemen.

The bower we shrined to Tennyson, Gentlemen, Is roof-wrecked; damps there drip upon Sagged seats, the creeper-nails are rust, The spider is sole denizen; Even she who read those rhymes is dust, Gentlemen!

We who met sunrise sanguine-souled, Gentlemen, Are wearing weary. We are old; These younger press; we feel our rout Is imminent to Aides' den, - That evening's shades are stretching out, Gentlemen!

And yet, though ours be failing frames, Gentlemen, So were some others' history names, Who trode their track light-limbed and fast As these youth, and not alien From enterprise, to their long last, Gentlemen.

Sophocles, Plato, Socrates, Gentlemen, Pythagoras, Thucydides, Herodotus, and Homer,--yea, Clement, Augustin, Origen, Burnt brightlier towards their setting-day, Gentlemen.

And ye, red-lipped and smooth-browed; list, Gentlemen; Much is there waits you we have missed; Much lore we leave you worth the knowing, Much, much has lain outside our ken: Nay, rush not: time serves: we are going, Gentlemen.

AFTER READING PSALMS x.x.xIX., XL., ETC.

Simple was I and was young; Kept no gallant tryst, I; Even from good words held my tongue, Quoniam Tu fecisti!

Through my youth I stirred me not, High adventure missed I, Left the shining shrines unsought; Yet--me deduxisti!

At my start by Helicon Love-lore little wist I, Worldly less; but footed on; Why? Me suscepisti!

When I failed at fervid rhymes, "Shall," I said, "persist I?"

"Dies" (I would add at times) "Meos posuisti!"

So I have fared through many suns; Sadly little grist I Bring my mill, or any one's, Domine, Tu scisti!

And at dead of night I call: "Though to prophets list I, Which hath understood at all?

Yea: Quem elegisti?"

187-

SURVIEW "Cogitavi vias meas"

A cry from the green-grained sticks of the fire Made me gaze where it seemed to be: 'Twas my own voice talking therefrom to me On how I had walked when my sun was higher - My heart in its arrogancy.

"You held not to whatsoever was true,"

Said my own voice talking to me: "Whatsoever was just you were slack to see; Kept not things lovely and pure in view,"

Said my own voice talking to me.

"You slighted her that endureth all,"

Said my own voice talking to me; "Vaunteth not, trusteth hopefully; That suffereth long and is kind withal,"

Said my own voice talking to me.