And, all else lost and faded, Only this listening head Keeps with a strange unanswering smile Its secret with the dead. NEVER MORE SAILOR Never more, Sailor, Shall thou be Tossed on the wind-ridden, Restless sea. Its tides may labour; All the world Shake 'neath that weight Of waters hurled: But its whole shock Can only stir Thy dust to a quiet Even quieter. Thou mock'st at land Who now art come To such a small And shallow home; Yet bore the sea Full many a care For bones that once A sailor's were. And though the grave's Deep soundlessness Thy once sea-deafened Ear distress, No robin ever On the deep Hopped with his song To haunt thy sleep. ARABIA Far are the shades of Arabia, Where the Princes ride at noon, 'Mid the verdurous vales and thickets, Under the ghost of the moon; And so dark is that vaulted purple Flowers in the forest rise And toss into blossom 'gainst the phantom stars Pale in the noonday skies. Sweet is the music of Arabia In my heart, when out of dreams I still in the thin clear mirk of dawn Descry her gliding streams; Hear her strange lutes on the green banks Ring loud with the grief and delight Of the dim-silked dark-haired Musicians In the brooding silence of night. They haunt me--her lutes and her forests; No beauty on earth I see But shadowed with that dreams recalls Her loveliness to me: Still eyes look coldly upon me, Cold voices whisper and say-- "He is crazed with the spell of far Arabia, They have stolen his wits away." THE MOUNTAINS Still, and blanched, and cold, and lone, The icy hills far off from me With frosty ulys overgrown Stand in their sculptured secrecy. No path of theirs the chamois fleet Treads, with a nostril to the wind; O'er their ice-marbled glaciers beat No wings of eagles in my mind-- Yea, in my mind these mountains rise, Their perils dyed with evening's rose; And still my ghost sits at my eyes And thirsts for their untroubled snows. QUEEN DJENIRA When Queen Djenira slumbers through The sultry noon's repose, From out her dreams, as soft she lies, A faint thin music flows. Her lovely hands lie narrow and pale With gilded nails, her head Couched in its handed nets of gold Lies pillowed on her bed. The little Nubian boys who fan Her cheeks and tresses clear, Wonderful, wonderful, wonderful voices Seem afar to hear. They slide their eyes, and nodding, say, "Queen Djenira walks to-day The courts of the lord Pthamasar Where the sweet birds of Psuthys are." And those of earth about her porch Of shadow cool and grey Their sidelong beaks in silence lean, And silent flit away. NEVER-TO-BE Down by the waters of the sea Reigns the King of Never-to-be. His palace walls are black with night; His torches star and moon's light, And for his timepiece deep and grave Beats on the green unhastening wave.