Bring not bright candles, for his eyes In twilight have sweet company; Bring not bright candles, else they fly-- His phantoms fly-- Gazing aggrieved on thee! Bring not bright candles, startle not The phantoms of a vacant room, Flocking above a child that dreams-- Deep, deep in dreams,-- Hid, in the gathering gloom! Bring not bright candles to those eyes That between earth and stars descry, Lovelier for the shadows there, Children of air, Palaces in the sky! THE MASSACRE The shadow of a poplar tree Lay in that lake of sun, As I with my little sword went in-- Against a thousand, one. Haughty and infinitely armed, Insolent in their wrath, Plumed high with purple plumes they held The narrow meadow path. The air was sultry; all was still; The sun like flashing glass; And snip-snap my light-whispering steel In arcs of light did pass. Lightly and dull fell each proud head, Spiked keen without avail, Till swam my uncontented blade With ichor green and pale. And silence fell: the rushing sun Stood still in paths of heat, Gazing in waves of horror on The dead about my feet. Never a whir of wing, no bee Stirred o'er the shameful slain; Nought but a thirsty wasp crept in, Stooped, and came out again. The very air trembled in fear; Eclipsing shadow seemed Rising in crimson waves of gloom-- On one who dreamed. ECHO "Who called?" I said, and the words Through the whispering glades, Hither, thither, baffled the birds-- "Who called? Who called?" The leafy boughs on high Hissed in the sun; The dark air carried my cry Faintingly on: Eyes in the green, in the shade, In the motionless brake, Voices that said what I said, For mockery's sake: "Who cares?" I bawled through my tears; The wind fell low: In the silence, "Who cares? who cares?" Wailed to and fro. FEAR I know where lurk The eyes of Fear; I, I alone, Where shadowy-clear, Watching for me, Lurks Fear. 'Tis ever still And dark, despite All singing and All candlelight, 'Tis ever cold, And night. He touches me; Says quietly, "Stir not, nor whisper, I am nigh; Walk noiseless on, I am by!" He drives me As a dog a sheep; Like a cold stone I cannot weep. He lifts me Hot from sleep In marble hands To where on high The jewelled horror Of his eye Dares me to struggle Or cry. No breast wherein To chase away That watchful shape! Vain, vain to say "Haunt not with night The Day!" THE MERMAIDS Sand, sand; hills of sand; And the wind where nothing is Green and sweet of the land; No grass, no trees, No bird, no butterfly, But hills, hills of sand, And a burning sky. Sea, sea, mounds of the sea, Hollow, and dark, and blue, Flashing incessantly The whole sea through; No flower, no jutting root, Only the floor of the sea, With foam afloat.