She cometh in the twilight with the tamarinds and tea; She kneeleth near to serve me in the sweet obscurity. She sayeth not a single word, but ever I am blest, And I fall asleep caressing her, the little Rose of Rest. THE SYMBOLS The sign work of the Orient it runneth up and down, The Talmud stalks from right to left, a rabbi in a gown; The Roman rolls from left to right from Maytime unto May, But the gods shake up their symbols in an absent-minded way. Their language runs to circles like the language of the eyes, Emphasized by strange dilations and with little panting sighs. There are symbols set as signals for unbarricaded lips, Emblems manifesting merits thrilling to the finger tips. The very serpents bite their tails; the bees forget to sting, For a language so celestial setteth up a wondering. And the touch of absent-mindedness is more than any line, Since direction counts as nothing when the gods set up a sign. THE SALAMANDER ISLES Snaring lights surmount the sand-dunes of the Salamander Isles; The chime buoys chant new tunes each tide, false soundings run for miles. And yet, for lures like these we set such sail as we could make; We steered by stars that sorrowed, with the moonlight in our wake. We dipped or rose supremely as we shook our freeboard clear; We clung, but smiled serenely when the head seas swept our gear. We were captives of the currents, we were harried by the flaw, Or the red mists from the marshes mocked the navigator’s law. Glimpsed we evanescent channels, marked by flares upon a wreck, But the channels shoaled to shallows ere the tops could hail the deck. Yet we won to realization that the ports long sought in vain, Were illusive as the May moths or the madrigals of Spain; And that only charts from China, drawn by wizards full of wiles, Would give the proper bearings for the Salamander Isles. THE CHESS GAME My king, my queen, the castle twain, each bishop, pawn and knight, I led them into battle by the flick’ring candle light. I led them into combat ’gainst a genius at the game, And the candles all were laughing as I sought to hide my shame. But the little silver chessmen that were wrought in Samarcand Caught the spirit of crusaders there upon the teakwood stand. The warriors all murmured, while the monarch moved to lean And voice his plan of action to his understanding queen: “For the sake of all the trumpeters who had to sound retreat-- For the sake of all beginners who have gone down to defeat; “We will fight, no human guiding, for a lovely lady’s fame, And we’ll run our counter-gambit to a checkmate in the game.” Oh, the glory of that battle, thunder marching in the ranks; The castles staunchly standing, and the proud pawns on the flanks. The queen with her litter and the king upon the right Spurred on each knight and bishop in the fury of the fight