They never see the dawn; like the pale moths That haunt lugubrious shadows of dim trees They celebrate their lunar mysteries At woodland shrines, where with green thyrsus rods And weak limbs wrapped in silken sensuous cloths They chant the names of their dead pagan gods. [ACROSS THE TAUT STRINGS] Across the taut strings of my yearning soul Pass fingers of all fleet and beautiful things: Comings of dawn and moonlight glimmerings, Mid-summer hush and Sabbath bells that toll Over broad fields, a sound of thrushes' wings Near sunset hour, a girl with lips apart, Wonder and laughter,--these have touched my heart And left their music lingering on its strings. At twilight of some gray, eventual year, A few late friends will turn, with trembling breath, From the raw mound of earth that hides my face.... Yet I shall still find beauty, even in death, And some lone traveller of the night will hear An echo of music in that quiet place. ESCAPE They danced beneath the stars, a crazy rout With antic steps that had some little grace; And one leapt high with song and frenzied shout, And one ran silent with a gleaming face. They danced until the shy moon looking down Deemed herself lost above some Grecian glade; A mile away the trim New England town Echoed the Bacchanalian din they made. And still they danced, until the moon sank low, Blushing a little, and night's diadem Of stars grew pale before the eastern glow.... And with the dawn their keepers came for them. ON A STREET CORNER But all the time you spoke I did not hear The words you said. I only heard a far Faint sound of summer waters and a clear Calling of music from some lonely star. I thought I heard the lisp of falling dew In a dark meadow where no breezes stirred.... Then all at once the noisy street, and you Smiling at me because I had not heard! SEA-BURIAL Over the sands the swollen tide came creeping, Over the sands beneath the gleaming moon; At first it seemed a child's uncertain croon, And then a sound of many mourners weeping. Then all at once a crested wave was sweeping Around the still form in the moonlight there, Twining its silver fingers in her hair.... And yet it could not rouse her from her sleeping. With dawn the tide went seaward, bearing her In its strong arms that clung so tenderly, And laid her in a strange place far away Where the tall seaweeds rise and never stir.... And there she sleeps, while pass alternately The brooding night and the green luminous day. * * * * * DUDLEY POORE A RENAISSANCE PICTURE Calm little figure, ivy-crowned, How long beneath the barren tree Where this pale, martyred god has found Surcease from his long agony, You watch with an untroubled gaze Life move on its accustomed ways!