Hark! Who knocks with bony fingers On the hut's small window latch?

Hark! Who pulls away the stubble Rustling, from the roofing thatch?

From the fields it is not Vintage, Drunk and weary wavers home-- 'Tis a spectre, meagre, gloomy, As a nightmare dread become.

All subduing, all destroying, In his ragged garment poor, Drags he,--on his crutches limping-- Noiseless reeling through the door.

Like the usurer hard hearted, For his last kopek in quest, Coffer, cupboard both he opens, Breaks the lock of case and chest.

Lordly rules he, late and early-- In the granary; when gone Every kernel of provision, The last cattle he will p.a.w.n.

From the land unto the cellar, Clean the peasant's hut he keeps, With a coa.r.s.e and clumsy besom Every tiny crumb he sweeps.

On the village highway also Works and wins he over all, From the threshing floor to stable-- From the sheepfold to the stall.

His approaching, sorrow follows-- On his coming, follows need, On his greeting, follows sickness, On his hand-shake Death succeeds!

So he seeks in all directions, East and West and South and North-- And in empty field embraces Thankfully his friend the Frost!

FOFANOW.

FADED THE FOOTSTEP OF SPRING FROM OUR GARDEN

Faded the footstep of Spring from our garden, Sighing the Autumn wind vanishing goes, Behold now, how close to us dreams are approaching-- Love, it is time for repose!

List, how the leaf.a.ge in raindrops all tearful Trembles and wails for a sorry defeat,-- All that was ours, that we once proudly boasted, All, was a glittering cheat.

Dark as a funeral pall hanging over, Fluttering clouds in their mockery close; Sighing within us is silenced our singing-- Love, it is time for repose.

Deceitful from heaven's fair emerald rainbow, Soft borrowed glamour of moonbeams doth woo; Since even you to my faith were disloyal, Love, my false Springtime were you!

Soon will the sunbeams last radiant shining Trackless be hurled where the Autumn wind blows, Slumber enmeshes my soul and the darkness-- Love, it is time for repose!

FOFANOW.

THE BEGGAR

There stood a beggar asking alms By the cathedral gate, His face bore torture marks of life-- Pale, tired, blind--like fate.

Thin, tired, pale and blind he begged A crust of bread alone, And some one pausing, placed within His outstretched hand--a stone.

And even so I asked your love, I brought my dreams, my life--the while Unto my pa.s.sion you replied Only with your cold smile!

FOFANOW.

WITH ROSES

Darling, accept my bunch of perfumed roses;-- Because in royal beauty and in freshness sweet They dared to rival you,--I cut them down and bound The criminals and brought them to your feet.

_From the Georgian of Prince Tschawtschawadze_.

THE STARS

With joy in your heart and a smile on your lips You admired the soft Southern night, And do you know when your beautiful eyes Were remarked, all the stars at the sight Were put out and turned faint in the skies?

This morning they brought their complaint to the sun-- "In ether a star quite unknown!

If to-night this same comet shall shine Whose radiance extinguished our own, We must all, our old splendor resign!"

And sadly the sun made them answer,--"Alas!

Before her, I am pale at high noon;-- See, to-day all is rainy and cold, 'Tis the trace of defeat seen so soon, 'Tis the trace of eclipse you behold!"

O happy the being whose life from afar Shall be lighted by such a lode star!

_From the Caucasian of Prince Oberlaine_.

WHISPERS AND THE TIMID BREATHING

Whispers and the timid breathing, Nightingale's long trill, Silver moonlight and the rocking Of the dreaming rill; Nightly light and nightly shadow, Shadow's endless lace-- Neath the moon's enchanted changes The Beloved's face.

Blinking stars as flash of amber, Snowy clouds on-rush, Tears and happiness and kisses-- And the dawn's red blush!

FROM "FeTE CHENCHINE."

_Fete Chenchine, so-called, has no rival in impressionistic effects. The above without a verb is a good instance of his peculiar caprice_.

THE TALES OF THE STARS

The stars of beauty, the stars of purity, Have whispered their wonderful tales to the flowers!

The satiny petals have smiled as they heard, And trembled the emerald leaves 'mid their bowers.

But infatuate flowers deep drunken of dew Repeated these tales to the light swaying breeze-- Rebellious winds listening swift caught them up And sang them o'er earth, o'er the mountains and seas!

Now, as the earth under Springtime's caresses: With her verdant tissue is covered once more, All my madly pa.s.sionate soul overflows With dreams of the stars and their radiant lore!