Laid out as dead in moonlight shroud Beneath a derelict of cloud: A double wreckage safe from flight, High-caged as grief, in prisoned night.-- Unseeing eyes whose clustering tears Tell the pure crystal of her years.-- No crown of thorns, no wounded side, Yet as the God-man crucified, Her body expiates the sin That love and life with her begin! MORE NIGHT! Moon-love, star-love, the love of silver water. The weeping face of love touched in the dark, And murdered joy, lost souls of joy that caught her A glow-worm's warmth and spark. Birds of prey, invisible, now hover About her midnights hammocked in unrest-- A moving shadow, faithless as a lover, Is all her arms have pressed-- Too luminous the dreaming of the sleeper Whose tears are prophecies and second-sight. Has death no under-sea, no darkness deeper, In which to satiate our need of night? THE PHANTOM GUEST We lay in shade diaphanous And spoke the light that burns in us As in the glooming's net I caught her, She shimmered like reflected water! Romantic and emphatic moods Are not for her whom life eludes... Its vulgar tinsel round her fold? She'd rather shudder with the cold, Attend just this elusive hour, A shadow in a shadow bower, A moving imagery so fine, It must have been her soul near mine And so we blended and possessed Each in each the phantom guest, Inseparate, we scarcely met; Yet other love-nights we forget! DOUBLE BEING A northern mind, a face from Italy, A double fate lived all too fatally, A look fresh as a childs, both soft and sharp, A clarion-voice, then liquid as a harp! A natural being, yet from nature freed, Like a Shakespearean boy of fairy breed-- A sex perplexed into attractive seeming-- Both sex at best, the strangeness so redeeming!-- Hands hard to loosen if for once they cling, Yet frail as Leicester's wearing a queen's ring. A page-clothed Rosalind to play a part, A brow of genius and a lonely heart. SINGING Ethereal vibrations And soulful pulsations Of song, Afloat on the air --More aspiring than prayer-- How strong The wings that uplift! As soaring adrift, A throng Of angels there are, And an echoing star, As along You rise ever higher, Sole voice of a choir How long Shall we follow your flight, Through crystaline night, And belong --Through the high vaults of space-- To your archangel's face, And long, --With the heavens still ringing-- To be one with your singing? ON A PICTURE TO MUSIC