Fair Apollonia, name august, Greek echo of the sacred vale, Great name whose harmonies robust Thee as Apollo's sister hail! Struck with the plectrum on the lyre, And in melodious beauty sung, Brighter than love's and glory's fire, It resonant rings upon the tongue. At such a classic sound as this, The elves plunge down their German lake. Alone the Delphian worthy is So lustreful a name to take,-- Pythia! when in her flowing dress She mounts her place with feet unshod, And, priestess white and prophetess, Wistful awaits the tardy god. THE BLIND MAN A blind man walks without the gate, Wild-staring as an owl by day, Fumbling his flute betimes and late, Along the way. He pipeth, weary wretch and worn, A roundel shrill and obsolete. The spectre of a dog forlorn Attends his feet. For him the days go lustreless. Invisible life with beat and roar He heareth like a torrent press Around, before. What strange chimeras haunt his head_ _And on his mind's bedarkened space, What characters unheard, unread, Doth fancy trace? Thus down Venetian leads of doom, Wan prisoners ensepulchred In palpable, undying gloom Have graven their word. And yet perchance when life's last spark Death speeds unto eternal night, The tomb-bred soul, within the dark, Shall see the light. SONG In April earth is white and rose Like youth and love, now tendering Her smiles, now fearful to disclose Her virgin heart unto the Spring. In June, a little pale and worn, And full at heart of vague desire, She hideth in the yellow corn, With sunburned Summer to respire. In August, wild Bacchante, she Her bosom bares to Autumn shapes, And on the tiger-skin flung free, Draws forth the purple blood of grapes. And in December, shrivelled, old, Bepowdered white from foot to head, In dream she wakens Winter cold, That sleeps beside her in her bed. WINTER FANTASIES I Red of nose and white of face, Bent his desk of ice before, Winter doth his theme retrace In the season's quatuor,-- Beating measure and the ground With a frozen foot for us, Singing with uncertain sound Olden tunes and tremulous. And as Haendel's wig sublime Trembling shook its powder, oft Flutter as he taps his time Snow-flakes in a flurry soft. II In the Tuileries fount the swan Meets the ice, and all the trees, As in land of fairies wan, Arc bedecked with filigrees. Flowers of frost in vases low Stand unquickened and unstirred, And we trace upon the snow Starred footsteps of a bird. Where with lightest raiment spanned, Venus was with Phocion met, Now has Winter's hoary hand Clodion's "Chilly Maiden" set. III Women pass in ermine dress, Sable, too, and miniver, And the shivering goddesses Haste to don the fashion's fur. Venus of the Brine comes forth, In her hooded mantle's fluff. Flora, blown by breezes North, Hides her fingers in her muff. And the shepherdesses round Of Coustou and Coysevox, Finding scarves too light have wound Furs about their throats of snow. IV