And suddenly becomes a flaming torch. Her bright hair flames, her burning glances scorch, And with a daring art at her command Her whole robe blazes like a fire-brand From which is stretched each naked arm, awake, Gleaming and rattling like a frightened snake. And then, as though the fire fainter grows, She gathers up the flame--again it glows, As with proud gesture and imperious air She flings it to the earth; and it lies there Furiously flickering and crackling still-- Then haughtily victorious, but with sweet Swift smile of greeting, she puts forth her will And stamps the flames out with her small firm feet. OFFERING My body glows in every vein and blooms To fullest flower since I first knew thee, My walk unconscious pride and power assumes; Who art thou then--thou who awaitest me? When from the past I draw myself the while I lose old traits as leaves of autumn fall; I only know the radiance of thy smile, Like the soft gleam of stars, transforming all. Through childhood's years I wandered unaware Of shimmering visions my thoughts now arrests To offer thee, as on an altar fair That's lighted by the bright flame of thy hair And wreathéd by the blossoms of thy breasts. LOVE SONG When my soul touches yours a great chord sings! How shall I tune it then to other things? O! That some spot in darkness could be found That does not vibrate whene'er your depths sound. But everything that touches you and me Welds us as played strings sound one melody. Where is the instrument whence the sounds flow? And whose the master-hand that holds the bow? O! Sweet song-- ARCHAIC TORSO OF APOLLO We cannot fathom his mysterious head, Through the veiled eyes no flickering ray is sent: But from his torso gleaming light is shed As from a candelabrum; inward bent His glance there glows and lingers. Otherwise The round breast would not blind you with its grace, Nor could the soft-curved circle of the thighs Steal to the arc whence issues a new race. Nor could this stark and stunted stone display Vibrance beneath the shoulders heavy bar, Nor shine like fur upon a beast of prey, Nor break forth from its lines like a great star-- There is no spot that does not bind you fast And transport you back, back to a far past. THE BOOK OF HOURS _The Book of A Monk's Life_ I live my life in circles that grow wide And endlessly unroll, I may not reach the last, but on I glide Strong pinioned toward my goal. About the old tower, dark against the sky, The beat of my wings hums, I circle about God, sweep far and high On through milleniums. Am I a bird that skims the clouds along, Or am I a wild storm, or a great song?