And by and by Pan made a flute for me, And when I took the flute I seemed to see Visions of bodied-thoughts, gay-clothed or dark, And each thought made a sound: and some the lark Took for his song—the gayest did he take— But I for mine took sombre ones, to make A mournful wail for my lost love, but while I sang I did forget my grief and smile. And then the sweetness of the tunes I made Thrilled me, and sorrow vanished and I played Enraptured, with the sounds that charmed me best; And I made songs for pleasure, while the West Crimsoned behind the dark, enchanted woods. Still by the silent pool, in varying moods, All night beneath the stars I laughed and sang, And through the shadows joyful echoes rang, And presently dryads slipt from tree to tree; Nymphs from the field and stream crept close to me And stealthy satyrs; and web-footed men Climbed from the lake; and from a fairy glen Came trooping little people with bright eyes, Who listened while I made them melodies. Then slender women, with white limbs and hair Dusky as night, sought out my reedy lair To hear my singing, and the loveliest one Lay in my arms until the night was done. 1909. _Part IV_ _Brighton Beach_ (_Whit-Monday, 1909_) Chocolates and brandy balls and butterscotch, “Tit-Bits,” “The Mother’s Friend” and “Woman’s Life,” Sixpenny photographs, a silver watch, A “little wonder” of a pocket-knife— All these for sale: the sunshine, given free, Beats down upon the beach and on the sea Where ma and brats—fat legs and little feet— Paddle and laugh and redden in the heat. All through the happy day they call and shout, Shriek with delight and giggle and “hooray”; And two alone look gloomy and put out, Causing a lady to her pal to say: “’Oo’s that young man wot give ’is girl a shove?” “O them poor sulky devils, they’re in love!” _Beaugency-sur-Loire_ A strong stroke, and the boat leaps, and the heart grows merry! But I think of a little farm slid by, and a dark girl at the ferry. The sun dies, and a bird cries, and a bright star’s gleaming: And I afloat, and all alone, with the long night for dreaming.... A strong stroke, and the boat leaps, and the stream swirls under; And here am I by the still white town, in a sad, hush’d wonder. Lovers sigh and the leaves sigh—and bright eyes peeping: A boy laughs and a girl laughs ... and ah! who’s weeping? 1912. _In Picardy_ Waves lap the beach, pines stretch to meet the sea— A pale light on the horizon lingers and shines That might shine round the Graal; and we Stand very silent, underneath the pines. Oh, swift expresses for the spirit’s flight! Sometimes the moon is like a maid I know, Looking roguishly back and flying onward—so I follow, flashing after. Blessed night! 1912. _Calle Memo O Loredan_