WATTEAU, the carnival of illustrious hearts, Fluttering like moths upon the wings of chance; Bright lustres light the silk that flames and darts, And pour down folly on the whirling dance. GOYA, a nightmare full of things unknown; The fœtus witches broil on Sabbath night; Old women at the mirror; children lone Who tempt old demons with their limbs delight. DELACROIX, lake of blood ill angels haunt, Where ever-green, o'ershadowing woods arise; Under the surly heaven strange fanfares chaunt And pass, like one of Weber's strangled sighs. And malediction, blasphemy and groan, Ecstasies, cries, Te Deums, and tears of brine, Are echoes through a thousand labyrinths flown; For mortal hearts an opiate divine; A shout cried by a thousand sentinels, An order from a thousand bugles tossed, A beacon o'er a thousand citadels, A call to huntsmen in deep woodlands lost. It is the mightiest witness that could rise To prove our dignity, O Lord, to Thee; This sob that rolls from age to age, and dies Upon the verge of Thy Eternity! THE SADNESS OF THE MOON The Moon more indolently dreams to-night Than a fair woman on her couch at rest, Caressing, with a hand distraught and light, Before she sleeps, the contour of her breast. Upon her silken avalanche of down, Dying she breathes a long and swooning sigh; And watches the white visions past her flown, Which rise like blossoms to the azure sky. And when, at times, wrapped in her languor deep, Earthward she lets a furtive tear-drop flow, Some pious poet, enemy of sleep, Takes in his hollow hand the tear of snow Whence gleams of iris and of opal start, And hides it from the Sun, deep in his heart. THE BALCONY Mother of memories, mistress of mistresses, O thou, my pleasure, thou, all my desire, Thou shalt recall the beauty of caresses, The charm of evenings by the gentle fire, Mother of memories, mistress of mistresses! The eves illumined by the burning coal, The balcony where veiled rose-vapour clings-- How soft your breast was then, how sweet your soul! Ah, and we said imperishable things, Those eves illumined by the burning coal. Lovely the suns were in those twilights warm, And space profound, and strong life's pulsing flood, In bending o'er you, queen of every charm, I thought I breathed the perfume in your blood. The suns were beauteous in those twilights warm. The film of night flowed round and over us, And my eyes in the dark did your eyes meet; I drank your breath, ah! sweet and poisonous, And in my hands fraternal slept your feet-- Night, like a film, flowed round and over us.