_A wedding guest, I travel far abroad!

The bride, thrice beautiful; the groom, a wizard; And I ride swiftly to the wedding feast.

The land is far, and I must travel on; An endless path before me leads away, But till I reach the end, I check the ardor Of my swift-footed stallion silver-shod, And wisely shorten my way's weary length With sounds that, like sweet longings, wake in me, Old sounds familiar, low-whispering Of women's beauties and of home-born shadows.

Then flowers pour their fragrances for me; And blossoms with no scent have their own speech, The speech of voiceless eyes that open wide; Unconsciously I speak my words in rimes That with uncommon measure echo forth The flames that burn within the heart, the kisses That the waves squander on the sandy beach, And the sweet birds that sing on children's lips!_

THE PARALYTIC ON THE RIVER'S BANK

Upon the graceless river bank that spread Barren and desert, all things drooped in sickness; And I, with palsy stricken, lay in pains!

Vainly my hands shook feather-like with fever; Methought my feet were nailed upon the ground; The river, wide and wild; and far beyond, As far as eyes could see, the other bank Revelled in l.u.s.ty growth and endless mirth With leafy slopes and forests glistening!

Meadows unreaped and glades untrod were there, And floods of green and tempests of new blossoms!

About the tree-tops glittered crowns of light; Shadows thrice-deep hid mysteries divine; And all descended blindly to the bank Where the wild river's anger held them back, Seeking, it seemed, a ford to come across To the dark bank of wilderness and torture!

And toward me all seemed to stretch their hands, Sending me shameless kisses as I lay Parched by the burning wind and worn with fever.

Nearby a sun-dried reed poured forth its sighs; And farther, a small laurel stirred its leaves: The double treasure of my wilderness.

I wished to cut a flute from the dry reed And wished a crown of laurel; but I lay Nailed down immovable as if the rod Of an enchantress evil-born had touched me; And within me, with wings of impotence, My wounded mind fluttered on hopelessly!

And then thou camest girt with working garb; With girdle flower-spun, with ap.r.o.n full Of fruits, didst thou bend over me. The spell Thou didst dispel and gavest me to eat And cleansedst me with myrrh; and suddenly, A soul divine and merciful came down On the bank merciless; and in thine arms Lifting me gently, thou didst go forth Amidst a moaning as of humming bees.

Thou stoodst on the threshold of the peasant hut, The hut that was earth-built and filled with gra.s.s As if the art of a small bird had wrought it.

Thou didst lay me upon a bed at dusk That I might rest; and mingled with sweet care And innocence, thou didst lean by my side With body ripe and beautiful. Wert thou A lover, mother, sister, or a woman?

Thou didst lay on my brow thy hand to lull me; And in thy thoughtful face, I saw the gleam Of kindly Nausica and good Rebecca.

I slept and woke; even my sorrow's ogress Had turned into a fairy sweetly sad!

And in my hands I found both, laurel bough And reed! I drank the fragrant morning breath Of pines; and taking up the laurel boughs, I wove with master hand the whole day long All kinds of laurel crowns for thee; and then I poured into the unaccustomed air Of thy small hut a flute's soft-flown complaint.

But from my bed, I lifted up mine eyes To the window's light and saw again, alas, The desert river bank, and, far beyond, The world that squandered diamonds and pearls And revelled in its joy of green dew-clad.

Again they nodded secretly at me, Stretching their hands and feigning love!

And even near thee, palsy struck I was, The paralytic on the river bank!

THE SIMPLE SONG

Thou camest far away from lands beyond!

Thou wert not a gold sunlit cloud at sunset But mother of a honeyed tenderness That until then lay hidden in my mind's Tenderest shrine; the golden seal of a Young maiden's joy stamped with its touch!

The evening star thou wert not; but thou wert The sister of a simple love that lay Hidden till then in my heart's inner depths.

Before me thou didst not unfold the s.p.a.ces Of the blue skies; not didst thou lift mine eyes Towards the rough-hewn peak; nor didst thou open To me the way for distant palaces; Nor didst thou lead me by a secret path Untrod. But lifting with one hand the basket, Gently thou heldest with the other mine; And leading me to sit by ferns dew-clad And deep green gra.s.s and snow-white flowers, thou Badest me stoop and gather; and I stooped And gathered all my hands could reach: wall-flowers, Hyacinths, violets, and daffodils; And found beside them a May day anew.

Over their petals newly reaped and fresh That made the basket seem a cruel spring, I bent and wept for their deaths swift and fair; And lo, thou didst face them, a Life agleam!

THREE KISSES

A Dream flew down and stood before mine eyes-- Who knows from what unknown deep-hidden nest?

It took the face of my own secret love And blew me with its hands three airy kisses:

The first air-kiss spread in my breast the din Of bitter and sweet life in waves of air; And the world's music sounded manifold, A tempest's roar and a sweet breath's caress.

The second air-kiss whispered low to me All whisperings that Silence stoops to sing Over bare wilderness and tombs and ruins, Songs that no soul nor even wind can hear.

The third air-kiss would bring to me, it seemed, Secrets from somewhere heard by none before.

Perhaps, by some bright star, two spirits white Embraced each other as they pa.s.sed in thought.

ISMENE

_To N.G. Polites, her father._

Where is the little girl and beautiful Who drew the milk of a full life and precious?

She filled her home with fragrance, and away She sailed to anchor in another land.

She filled her home with fragrance, and on wings Swiftly she fled and pa.s.sed away. Who knows Why she has left the flesh? Perhaps, she went Among the mystic joys of things unseen And things intangible to be herself Something new, something beyond compare or word.

And yet her house is wrapped in spider webs And longs for her. To her warm nest, will she Return? Perhaps, each time you feel, O home, Within your bosom something sweet and tender That cannot be explained, it may be she; Who knows? Then speak to her and say: "Do you, Too, long for me, O soul without return?"

THOUGHTS OF EARLY DAWN

Who are you that awake me in the morning?

Not the reveille that sweetens with its sounds The soldier's hardy life. Nor can you be The chapel bell that slowly rings to prayer.

Your steps fall heavy on the road. You bring Thought, light, and sound, my sacred Trinity.

What if you rouse the slave who goes to work?

What if you call the prodigal to sleep?

Not many were the flowers; and few, the lilies; And I did long to reap the lily-treasure.

I eyed the lilies all, and walked into The garden rich to clasp them in mine arms.