Between unseeing walls the waters rest, Lifeless and hushed, till suddenly a swan Glides from some broader river blue as day, And with the mirrored magic of his breast Creates within that barren water-way New life, new loveliness, and passes on. THE IDEAL FOUND WANTING. I'm sick of clownery and Owlglass tricks; Damn the whole crowd of you I I hate you all. The same, night after night, from powdered stall To sweating gallery, your faces fix In flux an idiot mean. The Apteryx You worship is no victory; you call On old stupidity, God made to crawl For tempting with world-wisdom's narcotics. I'll break a window through my prison! See, The sunset bleeds among the roofs; comes night, Dark blue and calm as music dying out. Is it escape? No, the laugh's turned on me! I kicked at cardboard, gaped at red limelight; You laughed and cheered my latest knockabout. MISPLACED LOVE. Red wine that slowly leaned and brimmed the shell Of pearl, where lips had touched, as light and swift As naked petals of the rose adrift Upon the lazy-luted ritournelle Of summer bee-song: laughing as they fell, Gold memories: dream incense, childhood's gift, Blue as the smoke that far horizons lift, Tenuous as the wings of Ariel:-- These treasured things I laid upon the pyre; And the flame kindled, and I fanned it high, And, strong in hope, could watch the crumbling past. Eager I knelt before the waning fire, Phoenix, to greet thine immortality ... But there was naught but ashes at the last. SONNET. Were I to die, you'd break your heart, you say. Well, if it do but bend, I'm satisfied-- Bend and rebound--for hearts are temper-tried, Mild steel, not hardened, with the spring and play Of excellent tough swords. It's not that way That you'll be perishing. But when I've died, When snap! my light goes out, what will betide You, if the heart-breaks give you leave to stay? What will be left, I wonder, if you lose All that you gave me? "All? A year or so Out of a life," you say. But worlds, say I, Of kisses timeless given in ecstasy That gave me Real You. I die: you go With me. What's left? Limbs, clothes, a pair of shoes?... SENTIMENTAL SUMMER. The West has plucked its flowers and has thrown Them fading on the night. Out of the sky's Black depths there smiles a greeting from those eyes, Where all the Real, all I have ever known Of the divine is held. And not alone Do I stand here now ... a presence seems to rise: Your voice sounds near across my memories, And answering fingers brush against my own.