All the winds of the sea weary, All the waves of the sea rest, All the wants of my heart settle Softly now in my breast. All the stars that in heaven anchor, Golden buoys of Elysian light, Send me across the gulf promise That I am faring right. So while clouds that are left lonely At the gates of the far West Wait, so still, for the moon's stiller Stealing from her nest, I am held by a low vesper Haunting afar the vague twilight, Then with my soul at peace whisper Hallowedly good-night. A SONG OF THE SECTS (_In a Jerusalem tavern_) A Latin and Greek, praise God, are we, Armenian and Copt, And we're all drunk as drunk can be, for we've together sopped. Not one of us but spits at the creed the others mouth and purr, But we all believe, we all believe, in the Holy Sepulchre! _The Armenian sings_ The Copt comes out of Egypt-land and with a braggart face He'll tell you that his fathers piled the Pyramids in place. In his Monophysite Christ we set no faith, the blasphemer! But we all believe, we all believe, in the Holy Sepulchre! _The Latin sings_ The Greek will curse you if you call his Ikons images, And damns your soul to Hell--no purgatory, if you please! About Procession of the Ghost he's prickly as a burr, But he believes, as we all believe, in the Holy Sepulchre! _The Copt sings_ Of heretics God leaves unburnt, Armenians are worst, They will not celebrate the Day, that was for Christ the first. No wine with water mixed for them, as well mix heathen myrrh-- Or not believe, as we all believe, in the Holy Sepulchre! _The Greek sings_ The Latin swears his Roman Pope is judge infallible. Wherefore you may be very sure the Devil from his skull Will drink a toast unto all liars, who such a lie aver-- Tho they believe, as we all believe, in the Holy Sepulchre! _The Four again_ A Latin and Greek, praise God, are we, Armenian and Copt, And we're all drunk as drunk can be, for we've together sopped. Not one of us but hankers to hang all Jews on a Juniper, For we all believe, we all believe, in the Holy Sepulchre! THE CITY Soft and fair by the Desert's edge, And on the dim blue edge of the sea, Where white gulls wing all day and fledge Their young on the high cliff's sandy ledge, There is a city I have beheld, Sometime or where, by day or dream, I know not which, for it seems enspelled As I am by its memory. Pale minarets of the Prophet pierce Above it into the white of the skies, And sails enchanted a thousand years Flit at its feet while fancy steers. No face of all its faces to me Is known--no passion of it or pain. It is but a city by the sea, Enshrined forever beyond my eyes! VIA AMOROSA (_To A. H. R._) When we two walk, my love, on the path The moon makes over the sea, To the end of the world where sorrow hath An end that is ecstasy, Should we not think of the other road Of wearying dust and stone Our feet would fare did each but care To follow the way alone?