TO DICK, ON HIS SIXTH BIRTHDAY Tho' I am very old and wise, And you are neither wise nor old, When I look far into your eyes, I know things I was never told: I know how flame must strain and fret Prisoned in a mortal net; How joy with over-eager wings, Bruises the small heart where he sings; How too much life, like too much gold, Is sometimes very hard to hold. . . . All that is talking--I know This much is true, six years ago An angel living near the moon Walked thru the sky and sang a tune Plucking stars to make his crown-- And suddenly two stars fell down, Two falling arrows made of light. Six years ago this very night I saw them fall and wondered why The angel dropped them from the sky-- But when I saw your eyes I knew The angel sent the stars to you. TO ROSE ROSE, when I remember you, Little lady, scarcely two, I am suddenly aware Of the angels in the air. All your softly gracious ways Make an island in my days Where my thoughts fly back to be Sheltered from too strong a sea. All your luminous delight Shines before me in the night When I grope for sleep and find Only shadows in my mind. Rose, when I remember you, White and glowing, pink and new, With so swift a sense of fun Altho' life has just begun; With so sure a pride of place In your very infant face, I should like to make a prayer To the angels in the air: "If an angel ever brings Me a baby in her wings, Please be certain that it grows Very, very much like Rose." THE FOUNTAIN On in the deep blue night The fountain sang alone; It sang to the drowsy heart Of the satyr carved in stone. The fountain sang and sang But the satyr never stirred-- Only the great white moon In the empty heaven heard. The fountain sang and sang And on the marble rim The milk-white peacocks slept, Their dreams were strange and dim. Bright dew was on the grass, And on the ilex dew, The dreamy milk-white birds Were all a-glisten too. The fountain sang and sang The things one cannot tell, The dreaming peacocks stirred And the gleaming dew-drops fell. THE ROSE BENEATH my chamber window Pierrot was singing, singing; I heard his lute the whole night thru Until the east was red. Alas, alas, Pierrot, I had no rose for flinging Save one that drank my tears for dew Before its leaves were dead. I found it in the darkness, I kissed it once and threw it, The petals scattered over him, His song was turned to joy; And he will never know-- Alas, the one who knew it!-- The rose was plucked when dusk was dim Beside a laughing boy. DREAMS I GAVE my life to another lover, I gave my love, and all, and all-- But over a dream the past will hover, Out of a dream the past will call.