Yet, and yet The circling winds Repeat pa.s.sionate speech, The sunset burns, As my soul In desire's golden heat, Though night be not far Shadows creep near With chilling breath and clutching hands To pluck To destroy The flowers of yielding from your heart: Powerless, fear-stricken; I tremble, I stagger, I fall Into oblivion's pit As time creeps Into winter's grave Silent, empty, white.

25

THE CONFLUENCE

Tears of Ages come in a stream, Sighs flow in from Life's h.o.a.ry height, Souls of Sorrow bring their gleam Of a light that is but a moan, not a sight.

The gray waves of the Sea of Death Congeal under the cold Sun of Suffering, While Time, playing the flute of Fate, Charms them, snake-like, and doth bring.

Out of a Cave, beyond Lights and Shades Present's storm,--made stormier by Future's promises,-- To mingle in the Ocean of Death Like Sleep, yielding to Dream's caresses.

26

In the deeps of Dream O'er the pool of Sleep A lone star her face Seeking, with song-kindled eyes Her Isle of Rest.

Across the dusky hills The first flush of waking Unfurls its silver banner To signal the Isle for her: She vanishes, as before, into the fading Night.

Thus the Eye of Life Searches for the home of Peace Night after night: And when the sun of Death rises It flees,--it loves its own night.

27

TO

LEO B. MIHAN

Few notes out of the coffer of sound, An image from the gallery of Nature, An hour from the infinity of Time,-- Out of these, blessed creature, Createst thou the world of endless rhyme!

28

CHOPIN'S FUNERAL MARCH

The keyboard black and white; Shadow-Light the Evening's scale; Half silent the voice of thy singing.

Quiver the notes in pain; Exquisite, sad, the melody at thy touch; Like the silver arrow of Desire Piercing the Soul's golden heart.

The room is lost in dark.

The ivory keys, white fringe Of a music long since mute; Yet, in the black night Tremble and toss notes Unheard, undreamt,--like sleep Sleepless, and waking full of smart.

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In the golden afterglow you lay, When the emerald moon Made thin silver fog-veils For the bride of night, Whose saffron-sandled feet Walked the foam-strewn floor of the sea.

In my arms you listened To words of love Poured by the infinite heaven of my heart, Echoed by the endless symphony of the sky.

Your silent gaze, Deeper than the song of the sea, Farther than the moon, Nearer than your own heart-beat, Asked mine for speech.

"What can my love say At this sad sacred hour?"

Hour of parting this!

Love's ever-feared moment, Longing's much-dreaded end, Yet no voice sorrows in our being, No woe dims the moon-face tonight.

Between the sheltering dunes and fading light On an aerial couch lying, Adorned in kiss-woven garments of nudity Our spirits garlanded with myriad embraces, Borne on pa.s.sion's flaming wings Cross this ocean of parting Unto that far island of Cythera Where only love reigns In eternal majesty.

30

HENRIK IBSEN

Lone as the lone north star, Stern as the rocks that guard the sanct.i.ty of his home, Pure as the white snow of his land, And beauteous his visions like the fjords At each turn of the mariner's helm.

The lofty glaciers engage his eyes, As life's height the sight of his mind; And his Imagination, expansive as the sea, Tries to push the boundary-line of the sky, his Soul, Further and further, where a new North Star Awaits his exploring eye.

31

AFTER HEARING "MY OLD KENTUCKY HOME"

I know not whose the words, Nor the maker of their music; In my sorrow-laden heart The aroma of its pathetic art Like the soothing breath of dream.

Joy borrows its charm from sorrow; Sorrow feverish with the color of joy; An opaque crystal, a stone on life's string Made of music that doth ring As the stars on the lyre of night.

A pain it is, made perfect; A call made clear by the voice of peace; A silver stream of song Darkened, yet floweth on and on Between black banks of memory, into the Soul's white home.

32

THE COMING OF THE TIDE OF NIGHT