Dame Helen caused a grievous fray, For love of her brave men did fight, The eyes of her made sages fey And put their hearts in woful plight. To her no rhymes will I indite, For her no garlands will I twine, Though she be made of flowers and light No lady is so fair as mine. L’ENVOI Prince Eros, Lord of lovely might Who on Olympus dost recline, Do I not tell the truth aright? No lady is so fair as mine. FOR A BIRTHDAY April with her violets, May and June with roses, Young July with all her flowers, crimson, gold and white, Each in place her tribute sets, Each her wreath composes, Making glad the roadway for the Lady of Delight. Birds with many colours gay, Through the branches flitting, Sing, to greet my Lady Love, a lusty welcome song. Even bees make holiday, Hive and honey quitting, Tremulous and jubilant they join the eager throng. Now the road is flower-paved; Timid fawns are peering From their pleasant vantage in the roadside’s leafy green. All the world in sunlight laved, Knows the hour is nearing That shall bring the golden presence of the well-loved Queen. Hark! at last the silver trill Of a lute is sounding-- Happy August, purple-clad, appears with all her train. Sudden sweet the branches fill; Every heart is bounding; August comes, the kindly nurse of her who is to reign! And now, with proud and valiant gait, An hundred centaurs come. Pan rides the foremost one in state; The waiting crowd grows dumb. Each centaur wears a jewelled thong And harness bright of sheen; They draw through surging floods of song The carriage of the Queen! “Hail! Hail! Hail! to the Queen in her moonstone car! Hail! Hail! Hail! to the Lady whose slaves we are! We of the meadows, the rocks and the hills, Dwellers in oceans and rivers and rills, Beasts of the forests and birds of the air, Linnet and butterfly, lion and bear, Daisy and daffodill, spruce-tree and fir, Yield to our Queen and do homage to her! Hail! Hail! Hail! we welcome thy royal sway! Hail! Hail! Hail! O Queen, on this festal day!” So all the world kneels down to you, And all things are your own; Now let a humble rhymer sue Before your crystal throne. Fair Queen, at your rose-petal feet Bid me to live and die! Not all your world of lovers, Sweet, Can love so much as I. [Illustration: JOYCE KILMER, AGE 21 TAKEN IN ACADEMIC GOWN, IMMEDIATELY AFTER HIS GRADUATION, AND DIRECTLY PRECEDING HIS MARRIAGE] WAYFARERS Underneath the orchard trees lies a gypsy sleeping, Tattered cloak and swarthy face and shaggy moonlit hair; One brown hand his crazy fiddle in its grasp is keeping, Through the Land of Dreams he strolls and sings his love songs there.