As a Forest on fire, Where maddened creatures desire Wet mud or wings Beyond all those things Which could assuage desire On this side the flaming fire. As Wind with a sob and sigh To which there comes no reply But a rustle and shiver From rushes of the river; As Wind with a desolate moan, Moaning on alone. As a Desert all sand, Blank, neither water nor land For solace, or dwelling, or culture, Where the storms and the wild creatures howl; Given over to lion and vulture, To ostrich, and jackal, and owl: Yet somewhere an oasis lies; There waters arise To nourish one seedling of balm, Perhaps, or one palm. As the Sea, Murmuring, shifting, swaying; One time sunnily playing, One time wrecking and slaying; In whichever mood it be, Worst or best, Never at rest. As still Waters and deep, As shallow Waters that brawl, As rapid Waters that leap To their fall. As Music, as Color, as Shape, Keys of rapture and pain Turning in vain In a lock which turns not again, While breaths and moments escape. As Spring, all bloom and desire; As Summer, all gift and fire; As Autumn, a dying glow; As Winter, with nought to show: Winter which lays its dead all out of sight, All clothed in white, All waiting for the long-awaited light. A BALLAD OF BODING. There are sleeping dreams and waking dreams; What seems is not always as it seems. I looked out of my window in the sweet new morning, And there I saw three barges of manifold adorning Went sailing toward the East: The first had sails like fire, The next like glittering wire, But sackcloth were the sails of the least; And all the crews made music, and two had spread a feast. The first choir breathed in flutes, And fingered soft guitars; The second won from lutes Harmonious chords and jars, With drums for stormy bars: But the third was all of harpers and scarlet trumpeters; Notes of triumph, then An alarm again, As for onset, as for victory, rallies, stirs, Peace at last and glory to the vanquishers. The first barge showed for figurehead a Love with wings; The second showed for figurehead a Worm with stings; The third, a Lily tangled to a Rose which clings. The first bore for freight gold and spice and down; The second bore a sword, a sceptre, and a crown; The third, a heap of earth gone to dust and brown. Winged Love meseemed like Folly in the face; Stinged Worm meseemed loathly in his place; Lily and Rose were flowers of grace.