Chapter 2

Dark boy, how radiantly you went to meet Your mystic doom . . . what colours in the sky! As though that cup of beauty the gods hold Brimmed over on a world in ecstasy . . . What silver flutes charmed all the forest ways . . . How the green shimmered, jewelled thick with flowers, And how the sun was like a globe of gold . . . Yet you but thought to chase the perfect hours Down that white road of wonder and delight, The highway of your dreams, and heedlessly You crushed the violets with your slim brown feet, And whistled low, and sang a careless song . . . Because your life was full of lovely days, Because your life was delicate and sweet . . . O youth and dawn . . . you dreamed not of the night . . . O life and laughter . . . but the night is long . . .

Blue Flowers

I go to gather in the woods for you The wild flowers that are blue . . . Petals to match the colour of your eyes!

None but blue blossoms will I take, yet see How sweetly tempting me The fruit trees swing their scented treasuries.

And how the buttercups and daisies dance To meet my dazzled glance! But gold and silver, Sweet, are naught to you.

And so let others rob God’s gardens . . . shake The stars down for your sake— I bring you but the wild flowers that are blue!

Madrigal

Rare garden where my heart goes gathering Many a lovely and delightful thing, Pale roses of your body and the fair Unrivalled yellow blossoms of your hair!

Tall lilies of your gay and careless grace, And O the wistful flower of your face! And all the soft and starry mysteries Of those divine forget-me-nots, your eyes . . .

O come, fair Love, before the flowers fade, And bless this garden that the gods have made . . . Rare garden where my heart goes gathering Many a lovely and delightful thing . . .

Endymion

Your hair was like a honey-coloured flame Seen through a veil of silver when you came And took me in your arms that winter night . . . The moonlight, amorous of your golden hair, Toyed with it softly, as a woman might With some bright treasure, delicate and rare.

O, young Endymion, risen from the dead, Born once again to beauty, O bright head! The moon stoops low to kiss you, as of old; Stoops graciously from her great throne of pearl, With outstretched arms mysterious and cold . . . But you have left her for a mortal girl.

Dance Song

O hide your passion from the moon. When young and slender she appears In shining gown and silver shoon . . . And, all her path with stars impearled, She dances round the darkened world.

O hide your sorrows from the sun . . . The sun should never see your tears! Weep, if you will, when day is done . . . But laugh and sing and clap your hands While yet the sun in heaven stands.

A Memory

O how I loved you when we met For that one moment of the day! Yes, loved you desperately, and yet Could scarcely find a word to say— No wonder that you looked and smiled As though upon some timid child. You never guessed, how could you guess That I adored your loveliness!

You never saw the prisoned soul Behind the windows of my eyes, Frantic to break from fate’s control And charm you with her flatteries . . . And show you, your cold heart to move, The shining treasure of her love, And worship in a long embrace, The reckless beauty of your face!

You never knew . . . and the dream died A broken rose beneath your feet . . . You went your way . . . the world is wide And I forgot, for youth is sweet . . . Yet when at night I lie awake, My heart is sad for a dream’s sake, And I remember and regret . . . O how I loved you when we met!

The Photograph

O Beauty, what is this? A shadow of your face . . . Where is the wild flower grace That Love is wont to kiss?

Where is the bird that brings To your untroubled eyes The blue of fairy skies, The flash of fairy wings? . . .

O wild bird of delight, That no white hand may hold, Or fairest cage of gold . . . For who would stay its flight?

The song-bird of your voice Whose magic song Love hears, Trembling behind your tears, Trilling when you rejoice . . .

O Beauty, what is this? The shadow of a rose . . . A little ghost that goes Oblivious of Love’s kiss.

Only a shadow . . . yet It may, in some dark hour Recall the living flower . . . If haply Love forget.

St. Sebastian

So beautiful in all thine agony! So radiant in thine infinite despair . . . Oh, delicate mouth, brave eyes, and curled bright hair . . . Oh, lovely body lashed to the rough tree: What brutal fools were those that gave to thee Red roses of thine outraged blood to wear, Laughed at thy bitter pain and loathed the fair Bruised flower of thy victorious purity?

Marvellous Beauty . . . target of the world, How all Love’s arrows seek thy joy, Oh Sweet! And wound the white perfection of thy youth! How all the poisoned spears of hate are hurled Against thy sorrow when thou darest to meet With martyrdom men’s mockery of the truth!

The Magic Mirrors

In the dim mirrors of imagination, I watch the silent dancing of my soul . . . I watch her as she dances with my dreams . . . See how she takes innumerable disguises, And hides her beauty behind many masks, And how, sometimes, she seems to laugh and sing, . . . And weep . . . and call upon the unknown Gods . . . But not one mirror has betrayed her voice, Or shown to me the secret of her face . . . O silent dance of sorrow and delight, My heart grown tired with watching, turns away, To make perhaps a little passionate song Out of the shadows of immortal things . . .