SHORT POEMS 1902 -1930 The Mother of Dreams Goddess supreme, Mother of Dream, by thy ivory doors when thou standest, Who are they then that come down unto men in thy visions that troop, group upon group, down the path of the shadows slanting? Dream after dream, they flash and they gleam with the flame of the stars still around them; Shadows at thy side in a darkness ride where the wild fires dance, stars glow and glance and the random meteor glistens; There are voices that cry to their kin who reply; voices sweet, at the heart they beat and ravish the soul as itlistens. What then are these lands and these gold

The Fear of Death Death wanders through our lives at will, sweet Death Is busy with each intake of our breath. Why do you fear her? Lo, her laughing face All rosy with the light of jocund grace! A kind and lovely maiden culling flowers In a sweet garden fresh with vernal showers, This is the thing you fear, young portress bright, Who opens to our souls the worlds of light. Is it because the twisted stem must feel Pain when the tenderest hands its glory steal? Is it because the flowerless stalk droops dull And ghastly now that was so beautiful? Or is it the opening portal’s horrid jar That shakes you, feeble souls of courage bar

The Triumph-Song of Trishuncou I shall not die. Although this body, when the spirit tires Of its cramped residence, shall feed the fires, My house consumes, not I. Leaving that case I find out ample and ethereal room. My spirit shall avoid the hungry tomb, Deceiving death’s embrace. Night shall contain The sun in its cold depths; Time too must cease; The stars that labour shall have their release. I cease not, I remain. Ere the first seeds Were sown on earth, I was already old, And when now unborn planets shall grow cold My history proceeds. I am the light In stars, the streng

The Birth of Sin Lucifer, Sirioth LUCIFER What mighty and ineffable desire Impels thee, Sirioth? Thy accustomed calm Is potently subverted and the eyes That were a god’s in sweet tranquillity, Confess a human warmth, a troubled glow. SIRIOTH Lucifer, son of Morning, Angel! Thou Art mightiest of the architects of fate. To thee is given with thy magic gaze Compelling mortals as thou leanst sublime From heaven’s lucent walls, to sway the world. Is thy felicity of lesser date, Prince of the patient and untiring gods, The gods who work? Dost thou not ever feel Angelic weariness usurp the plac

Night by the Sea Love, a moment drop thy hands; Night within my soul expands. Veil thy beauties milk-rose-fair In that dark and showering hair. Coral kisses ravish not When the soul is tinged with thought; Burning looks are then forbid. Let each shyly-parted lid Hover like a settling dove O’er those deep-blue wells of Love. Darkness brightens; silvering flee Pomps of foam the driven sea. In this garden’s dim repose Lighted with the burning rose, Soft narcissi’s golden camp Glimmering or with rosier lamp Censered honeysuckle guessed By the fragrance of her breast, — Here where summ

Is this the end Is this the end of all that we have been, And all we did or dreamed, - A name unremembered and a form undone, - Is this the end? A body rotting under a slab of stone Or turned to ash in fire, A mind dissolved, lost its forgotten thoughts, - Is this the end? Our little hours that were and are no more, Our passions once so high Being mocked by the still earth and calm sunshine, - Is this the end? Our yearnings for the human Godward climb Passing to other hearts Deceived, while smiles towards death and hell the world, - Is this the end? Fallen is the harp; shattered it lies and mute; Is the unseen p

IV ON QUANTITATIVE METRE An Essay On Quantitative Metre THE REASON OF THE PAST FAILURES A definitive verdict seems to have been pronounced by the critical mind on the long-continued attempt to introduce quantitative metres into English poetry. It is evident that the attempt has failed, and it can even be affirmed that it was predestined to failure; quantitative metre is something alien to the rhythm of the language. Pure quantity, dependent primarily on the length or brevity of the vowel of the syllable, but partly also on the consonants on which the vowel sustains itself, quality as it was understood in the ancient classical languages,

-27_A Child's Imagination.htm A Child’s Imagination O thou golden image, Miniature of bliss, Speaking sweetly, speaking meetly! Every word deserves a kiss. Strange, remote and splendid Childhood’s fancy pure Thrills to thoughts we cannot fathom, Quick felicities obscure. When the eyes grow solemn Laughter fades away, Nature of her mighty childhood Recollects the Titan play; Woodlands touched by sunlight Where the elves abode, Giant meetings, Titan greetings, Fancies of a youthful God. These are coming on thee In thy secret thought; God remembers in thy bosom All the wonders that He wrought.

-10_The Lover's Complaint.htm The Lover's Complaint O plaintive, murmuring reed, begin thy strain; Unloose that heavenly tongue, Interpreter divine of pain; Utter thy voice, the sister of my song. Thee in the silver waters growing, Arcadian pan, strange whispers blowing Into thy delicate stops, did teach A language lovelier than speech. O plaintive, murmuring reed, begin thy strain; O plaintive, murmuring reed. Nisa to Mopsus is decreed, The moonwhite Nisa to a swarthy swain. What love-gift now shall Hope not bring? Election dwells no more with beauty's king. The wild weed now has wed the rose, Now ivy on the bramble grows; Too happy lover, fill the la

FRAGMENTS In the silence of midnight In the silence of midnight, in the light of dawn or noontide I have heard the flutings of the Infinite, I have seen the sun-wings of the seraphs. On the boundless solitude of the mountains, on the shoreless roll of ocean Something is felt of God's vastness, floating touches of the Absolute; Momentary and immeasurable smiled the sense nature free from its limits,- A brief glimpse, a hint, it passes but the soul grows deeper, wider: God has set his mark upon the creature. In the flash or flutter of flight of bird and insect, in the passion of winged cry on the treet