Chapter II: In the Temple

THE grey and misty night,
Slim trees that hold the night among
Their branches, and, along
The vague Embankment, light on light.

The sudden, racing lights!
I can just hear, distinct, aloof,
The gaily clattering hoof
Beating the rhythm of festive nights.

The gardens to the weeping moon
Sigh back the breath of tears.
O the refrain of years on years
’Neath the weeping moon!

A WHITE NIGHT.

THE yellow moon across the clouds
That shiver in the sky;
White, hurrying travellers, the clouds,
And, white and aching cold on high,
Stars in the sky.

Whiter, along the frozen earth,
The miracle of snow;
Close covered as for sleep, the earth
Lies, mutely slumbering below
Its shroud of snow.

Sleepless I wander in the night,
And, wandering, watch for day;
Earth sleeps, yet, high in heaven, the night
Awakens, faint and far away,
A phantom day.

IN THE VALLEY.

DOWN the valley will I wander, singing songs forlorn, Waiting for the maiden coming up between the corn.

Down below I hear the river babbling to the breeze, And I see the sunlight kiss the tresses of the trees.

All the corn is shining with the tears of early rain: Come, thou sunlight of mine eyes, and bring the dawn again!

Down the valley will I wander, singing songs forlorn, Till I meet the maiden coming up between the corn.

PEACE AT NOON.

HERE there is peace, cool peace, Upon these heights, beneath these trees; Almost the peace of sleep or death, To wearying brain, to labouring breath.

Here there is rest at last, A sweet forgetting of the past; There is no future here, nor aught Save this soft healing pause of thought.

IN FOUNTAIN COURT.

THE fountain murmuring of sleep,
A drowsy tune;
The flickering green of leaves that keep
The light of June;
Peace, through a slumbering afternoon,
The peace of June.

A waiting ghost, in the blue sky,
The white curved moon;
June, hushed and breathless, waits, and I
Wait too, with June;
Come, through the lingering afternoon,
Soon, love, come soon.

AT BURGOS.

MIRACULOUS silver-work in stone
Against the blue miraculous skies,
The belfry towers and turrets rise
Out of the arches that enthrone
That airy wonder of the skies.

Softly against the burning sun
The great cathedral spreads its wings;
High up, the lyric belfry sings.
Behold Ascension Day begun
Under the shadow of those wings!

AT DAWN.

SHE only knew the birth and death
Of days, when each that died
Was still at morn a hope, at night
A hope unsatisfied.

The dark trees shivered to behold
Another day begin;
She, being hopeless, did not weep
As the grey dawn came in.

IN AUTUMN.

FRAIL autumn lights upon the leaves
Beacon the ending of the year.
The windy rains are here,
Wet nights and blowing winds about the eaves.

Here in the valley, mists begin
To breathe about the river side
The breath of autumn-tide.
The dark fields wait to take the harvest in.

And you, and you are far away.
Ah, this it is, and not the rain
Now loud against the pane,
That takes the light and colour from the day!

ON THE ROADS.

THE road winds onward long and white, It curves in mazy coils, and crooks A beckoning finger down the height; It calls me with the voice of brooks To thirsty travellers in the night.

I leave the lonely city street, The awful silence of the crowd; The rhythm of the roads I beat, My blood leaps up, I shout aloud, My heart keeps measure with my feet.

Nought know, nought care I whither I wend: ’Tis on, on, on, or here or there. What profiteth it an aim or end? I walk, and the road leads anywhere. Then forward, with the Fates to friend!

’Tis on and on! Who knows but thus
Kind Chance shall bring us luck at last?
Adventures to the adventurous!
Hope flies before, and the hours slip past:
O what have the hours in store for us?

A bird sings something in my ear, The wind sings in my blood a song Tis good at times for a man to hear; The road winds onward white and long, And the best of Earth is here!

PIERROT IN HALF-MOURNING.