Chapter I: LOVE my love for she is like a garden in the dawn,

Pale, yet pink-flushed, with softly waking eyes, And primrose hair that brightens to gold skies, And petalled lips for dew to linger on.

I love my love for she is like the mirror of the moon,
(A sweet, small moon but newly come to birth)
So full of heaven is she, so close to earth,
So versed in holy spell and magic rune.

I love my love. O words that be too feeble and too few!
I love my love!--as April on the hill
Brings back earth's morning with each daffodil,
So she within my heart makes all things new.

Spring Awoke To-Day

SPRING awoke to-day!
Somewhere--far away--
Spring awoke to-day
From the depth of dream.

Through the air bestirred
Pulse of winging bird,
Through the air bestirred
Laugh of hidden stream.

On the world's cold lips
Fell warm finger-tips;
On the world's cold lips
Woke the glow and gleam!

Spring awoke to-day!
Somewhere--far away--
Spring awoke to-day
From the depth of dream!

In Town

SOMEWHERE there's a willow budding In a hollow by the river, Where the autumn leaves lie sodden, Turning all the pool to brown; There's a thrush who's building early, With his feathers all a-shiver, And the maple sap is rising-- But I'm glad that I'm in town.

Somewhere out there in the country There's a brook that's overflowing, And a quaker pussy-willow Sews grey velvet on her gown; Rushes whisper to each other That marsh marigolds are showing, And those saucy crocus fellows-- But I'm glad that I'm in town.

Long ago, when we were younger, How those little things enthralled us; King-birds nesting in the hedges, Baby field-mice soft as down, Muskrats in the sun-warmed shallows-- Strange how all these voices called us!-- Hark, was that a robin singing? When's the next train out of town?

Summer's Passing

A SINGLE branch of flaming red, A branch of tawny yellow And every branch in gorgeousness A rival of its fellow; Some russet brown and faded green With golden shadows in between And mist-hid sun to mellow.

An instinct as of music near-- A breath the wind is bringing, Broken and sweet, as from a host Of swift and solemn winging-- A mystery born of light and sound Wrapping our tranced progress round-- A sighing and a singing!

Thus in a certain lovely pomp We leave the Summer lying-- These are her funeral banners, this The pageantry of dying! The music that we almost hear Is wafted from her passing bier-- The singing and the sighing!

The Doom of Ys

DO you hear the bell? 'Tis a silver chime But it ringeth not in the bourne of time.

With the wind it swells, with the wind 'twill sink, Dying at last by the sea's dim brink.

By mortal hands the bell was hung By mortal hands 'tis never swung.

When the moon's at full and the long tide creeps It rings o'er the town that the deep sea keeps--

The town of Ys, that, unafraid, Cursed God's good bells for the noise they made,

Cursed them well and pulled them down From every belfry in the town!

For that sin of pride and that pride of sin, Deathly and soft, a Doom stole in.

It sucked through the stone, it stole through the street, It rose in the hall, silent and fleet;

Soundless it swept through the market-place Folding the town in a chill embrace;

No ruth it knew, it heard no call, Sinner and saint it gathered them all,

Gathered them all, while over them The bells they had cursed tolled requiem.

Do you hear the bell? When the full moon rides It rings o'er the town that the deep sea hides!

Time's Garden

YEARS are the seedlings which we careless sow In Time's bare garden. Dead they seem to be-- Dead years! We sigh and cover them with mould, But though the vagrant wind blow hot, blow cold, No hint of life beneath the dust we see; Then comes the magic hour when we are old, And lo! they stir and blossom wondrously.

Strange spectral blooms in spectral plots aglow! Here a great rose and here a ragged tare; And here pale, scentless blossoms without name, Robbed to enrich this poppy formed of flame; Here springs some hearts'ease, scattered unaware; Here, hawthorn-bloom to show the way Love came; Here, asphodel, to image Love's despair!

When I am old and master of the spell To raise these garden ghosts of memory, My feet will turn aside from common ways, Where common flowers mark the common days, To one green plot; and there I know will be Fairest of all (O perfect beyond praise!) The year you gave, beloved, your rosemary.

The Coming of Love

HOW shall I know? Shall I hear Love pass
In the wind that sighs through the poplar tree?
Shall I follow his passing over the grass
By the prisoned scents which his footsteps free?

Shall I wake one day to a sky all blue
And meet with Spring in a crowded street?
Shall I open a door and, looking through,
Find, on a sudden, the world more sweet?

How shall I know?--last night I lay
Counting the hours' dreary sum
With naught in my heart save a wild dismay
And a fear that whispered, "Love is come!"

Premonition

LAST night I dreamed No dream of joy or sorrow, Yet, when I woke, I wept, Knowing the brightness of some far to-morrow Had darkened while I slept!

The Child

I MAY not lift him in my arms. His face I may not see-- Are angel hands more tender than a mother's hands may be? And does he smile to hear the song an angel stole from me?

The wise King said, "He cannot come but I will go to him!" O David! did you seek with words to make the grave less grim? And did you think to cheat, with words, the jealous seraphim?

So! he will learn of heaven--he, who scarcely knew the earth. All fullness waits the baby eyes that never looked on dearth-- The mystery of death usurps the mystery of birth!

What light has earth to give me for the light that heaven beguiled? What is the calm of heaven to him who has not known the wild?-- O, we are both bereft, bereft--the mother and the child!

Intrusion