The same it seemed, or mystery made it seem, As those before beholden; but St. Mark Ruled here the ways that showed it like a dream Out of the dark. EROS. I. EROS, from rest in isles far-famed, With rising Anthesterion rose, And all Hellenic heights acclaimed Eros. The sea one pearl, the shore one rose, All round him all the flower-month flamed And lightened, laughing off repose. Earth’s heart, sublime and unashamed, Knew, even perchance as man’s heart knows, The thirst of all men’s nature named Eros. II. Eros, a fire of heart untamed, A light of spirit in sense that glows, Flamed heavenward still ere earth defamed Eros. Nor fear nor shame durst curb or close His golden godhead, marred and maimed, Fast round with bonds that burnt and froze. Ere evil faith struck blind and lamed Love, pure as fire or flowers or snows, Earth hailed as blameless and unblamed Eros. III. Eros, with shafts by thousands aimed At laughing lovers round in rows, Fades from their sight whose tongues proclaimed Eros. But higher than transient shapes or shows The light of love in life inflamed Springs, toward no goal that these disclose. Above those heavens which passion claimed Shines, veiled by change that ebbs and flows, The soul in all things born or framed, Eros. SORROW. SORROW, on wing through the world for ever, Here and there for awhile would borrow Rest, if rest might haply deliver Sorrow. One thought lies close in her heart gnawn thorough With pain, a weed in a dried-up river, A rust-red share in an empty furrow. Hearts that strain at her chain would sever The link where yesterday frets to-morrow: All things pass in the world, but never Sorrow. SLEEP. SLEEP, when a soul that her own clouds cover Wails that sorrow should always keep Watch, nor see in the gloom above her Sleep, Down, through darkness naked and steep, Sinks, and the gifts of his grace recover Soon the soul, though her wound be deep. God beloved of us, all men’s lover, All most weary that smile or weep Feel thee afar or anear them hover, Sleep. ON AN OLD ROUNDEL _TRANSLATED BY D. C. ROSSETTI FROM THE FRENCH OF VILLON_. I. DEATH, from thy rigour a voice appealed, And men still hear what the sweet cry saith, Crying aloud in thine ears fast sealed, Death. As a voice in a vision that vanisheth, Through the grave’s gate barred and the portal steeled The sound of the wail of it travelleth. Wailing aloud from a heart unhealed, It woke response of melodious breath From lips now too by thy kiss congealed, Death. II. Ages ago, from the lips of a sad glad poet Whose soul was a wild dove lost in the whirling snow, The soft keen plaint of his pain took voice to show it Ages ago.