"Thy foes, O Hunter, have goaded thy soul, but their goading is over, For every unfolding leaf is a shield for thy cover And every grass-blade upraises a spear that is scimitar-keen, Gladly the flowers will weave thee a mantle to wander unseen. Slim as a willow-wand, Ariadne awaits thee, her lover, And her heart is full of the dreams that are cool and green." "Hyé, the Dew, thy mother, sorrows because of thy going, And the film-pale, rain-sweet Hyades fleeing and flowing, Dissolved from the rainbow and river to rise in the sap of the tree, Leave never their dolorous grieving, lamenting in quest of thee. And the succulent vine and the spirit of all things growing Cry 'Dionysus, return! Oh, return from the sea!'" "Wilt thou forsake us forever, unheeding our sedulous plaining? See'st not the clusters of pale green globes, crescent and straining Sunwards, that long for thy hand to engarb them with royal attire? Hear us, O Wine-God; return to us! Kindle once more Desire!" So chant the Aeolian women till the light be waning While the foam breaks over their feet in soft folds of fire. The robes of the sun are red, and close to the earth he dozes; The long day lingers, then slowly and silently closes The shadowy orient gates, climbing upward stair by stair, Raising her evening face to the stars in the spring-tide air. Lo! the sea is aglow and aflame with the odor of roses! Lo! a glimpse of the God with the sun in his yellow hair! Recent Publications