The sun, descending, sows the sea with gold, And showers splendour through the fading skies, Whilst from the murky waters they behold The moon, a shape of silver, slow arise. And every evening, as the daylight dies, There comes that bark of death, whose white sail seems An angel in the dark. A while it lies Below them in the harbour, then there gleams A new shape on the stairs up to that land of dreams. FROM THE ARABIAN NIGHTS Then, as the whispering evening crossed the sea, Sweeping the waters with her veil of grey, Wave-worn and weary of the ocean, we Beheld the enchanted island far away-- Half hidden in the twilight low it lay On the horizon like a lazy cloud, Its coasts encompassed with long lines of spray. We spread the sails and swiftly the ship plowed The purple path ahead until the surf sang loud. Between the cliffs, by the faint stars, we found A gloomy gate, and boldly sailing in, Watched the dark mountains slowly closing round, And heard faint echoes of the ocean's din Melting like spirits' voices, fleet and thin; When of a sudden, as we faltered nigh, Out of the hills where only night had been A mist of minarets and towers high, Rose like the yellow light of morning in the sky. Gazing we drifted toward that golden bloom Of palaces whose light glowed on our sail; There we floated wrapped in wild perfume; Then music burst upon us in a gale; Grave, deep-toned trumpets and the lyre's long wail, And farther, the faint sound of singing men. We grasped our oars--but slowly, as will pale The morning star, the vision faded, then The empty dark swept in and all was night again! THRENODY Have you forgotten me, O my beloved? Have you deserted me Now in the autumn? See where the swallows fly South o'er the ocean: Soon will the winter wind Sweep the AEgean. Up from the vineyard comes Music of laughter; Far through the valleys they Gather the harvest. Westward the evening star Sinks in the mountains; Pale 'neath the rising moon Lies Mytilene. Here where the headland looks Wide o'er the water, I have brought laurel leaves, Decking your barrow. Why do I linger now Vainly lamenting? O it is lonely, love,-- Lonely in Lesbos! HELEN