MIST AND FROST

Veil-like and beautiful Gathered the dutiful Mist in the night, True to the messaging, Dreamful and presaging Vapour and light.

Ghostly and chill it is, Pallid and still it is, Sudden uprist; What is there tragical, Moving or magical, Hid in the mist?

Millions of essences, Fairy-like presences Formless as yet; Light-riven spangles, Crystalline tangles Floating unset.

Frost will come shepherding Nowise enjeoparding Frondage or flower; Just a degree of it, Nought can we see of it Only its power.

Earth like a Swimmer Plunged into the dimmer Wave of the night, Now is uprisen, An Elysian vision Of spray and of light.

'Tis the intangible Delicate frangible Secret of mist, Breathing may banish it, Thought may evanish it,-- Ponder and whist!

Pa.s.sionless purity, Calmness in surety Dwells everywhere, A winnowed whiteness, A lunar lightness Glows in the air.

But in the heart of it Every least part of it Blooms with the charm, Star-shape and frondage Broken from bondage Forged into form.

Crystals encrusted, Diamonds dusted Line everything, Tiny the stencillings Are as the pencillings On a moth's wing.

And O, what a wonder!

No farther asunder Than atoms are laid, The arches and angles Of star-froth and spangles Cast their own shade.

Out from the chalices, The pigmy palaces Where the tint hides, Opal and sapphire Half-pearl and half-fire The colour slides;

Till the frail miracle Rapturous lyrical Flushes and glows With a wraith of florescence That tempers or lessens The light of the snows.

Held all aquiver,-- But now with a shiver The power of the sun Dissolves the laces Of the tender mazes, All is undone.

But the old Earth brooding, All wisdom including, Affirms and a.s.sures That above the material, Triumphal imperial Beauty endures.

THE BEGGAR AND THE ANGEL

An angel burdened with self-pity Came out of heaven to a modern city.

He saw a beggar on the street, Where the tides of traffic meet.

A pair of bra.s.s-bound hickory pegs Brought him his pence instead of legs.

A murky dog by him did lie, Poodle, in part, his ancestry.

The angel stood and thought upon This poodle-haunted beggar man.

"My life is grown a bore," said he, "One long round of sciamachy;

I think I'll do a little good, By way of change from angelhood."

He drew near to the beggar grim, And gravely thus accosted him:

"How would you like, my friend, to fly All day through the translucent sky;

To knock at the door of the red leaven, And even to enter the orthodox heaven?

If you would care to know this joy, I will surrender my employ,

And take your ills, collect your pelf, An humble beggar like yourself.

For ages you these joys may know, While I shall suffer here below;

And in the end we both may gain Access of pleasure from my pain."

The stationary vagrant said, "I do not mind, so go ahead."

The angel told the heavenly charm, He felt a wing on either arm;

"Good-day," he said, "this floating's queer If I should want to change next year--?"

"Pull out that feather!" the angel said, "The one half black and the other half red."

The cripple cried, "Before you're through You may get f.a.gged, and if you do,--"

The angel superciliously-- "My transformed friend, don't think of me.

I shall be happy day and night, In doing what I think is right."

"So so," the feathered beggar said, "Good-bye, I am just overhead."

The angel when he grasped the dish, Began to criticize his wish.

The seat was hard as granite rocks, His real legs were in the box.

His knees were cramped, his shins were sore, The lying pegs stuck out before.

In vain he clinked the dish and whined.

The pa.s.sers-by seemed deaf and blind.

As pious looking as Saint Denis, An urchin stole his catch-penny.

And even the beggar's drab-fleeced poodle Began to know him for a noodle.

"It has an uncelestial scent, The clothing of this mendicant;"