And they heard the killdee's call, And afar, the waterfall, But the rustle of a falling leaf They heard above it all; And the trailing willow crept Deeper in the tide that swept The leafy shallop to the shore, And wept and wept and wept! And the fairy vessel veered From its moorings-- tacked and steered For the centre of the current Sailed away and disappeared: And the burthen that it bore From the long-enchanted shore-- "Alas! The South Wind and the Sun!" I murmur evermore. For the South Wind and the Sun, Each so loves the other one, For all his jolly folly And frivolity and fun, That our love for them they weigh As their fickle fancies may, And when at last we love them most, They laugh and sail away. _The Lost Kiss_ I put by the half-written poem, While the pen, idly trailed in my hand, Writes on--, "Had I words to complete it, Who'd read it, or who'd understand?" But the little bare feet on the stairway, And the faint, smothered laugh in the hall, And the eerie-low lisp on the silence, Cry up to me over it all. So I gather it up-- where was broken The tear-faded thread of my theme, Telling how, as one night I sat writing, A fairy broke in on my dream, A little inquisitive fairy-- My own little girl, with the gold Of the sun in her hair, and the dewy Blue eyes of the fairies of old. 'Twas the dear little girl that I scolded-- "For was it a moment like this," I said, "when she knew I was busy, To come romping in for a kiss--? Come rowdying up from her mother, And clamoring there at my knee For 'One 'ittle kiss for my dolly, And one 'ittle uzzer for me!" God pity, the heart that repelled her, And the cold hand that turned her away, And take, from the lips that denied her, This answerless prayer of to-day! Take Lord, from my mem'ry forever That pitiful sob of despair, And the patter and trip of the little bare feet, And the one piercing cry on the stair! I put by the half-written poem, While the pen, idly trailed in my hand Writes on--, "Had I words to complete it Who'd read it, or who'd understand?" But the little bare feet on the stairway, And the faint, smothered laugh in the hall, And the eerie-low lisp on the silence, Cry up to me over it all. _The Sphinx_ I know all about the Sphinx-- I know even what she thinks, Staring with her stony eyes Up forever at the skies. For last night I dreamed that she Told me all the mystery-- Why for aeons mute she sat--: She was just cut out for that! _If I knew What Poets Know_ If I knew what poets know, Would I write a rhyme Of the buds that never blow In the summer-time ? Would I sing of golden seeds Springing up in ironweeds? And of raindrops turned to snow, If I knew what poets know? Did I know what poets do, Would I sing a song Sadder than the pigeon's coo When the days are long? Where I found a heart in pain, I would make it glad again; And the false should be the true, Did I know what poets do.