Budgets of dream-dust, merchandise of song, Wreckage of hope and packs of ancient wrong, Nepenthes gathered from a secret strand, Fardels of heartache, burdens of old sins, Luggage sent down from dim ancestral inns, And bales of fantasy from No-Man’s Land. To Louise Michel I cannot take your road, Louise Michel, Priestess of Pity and of Vengeance--no: Down that amorphous gulf I cannot go-- That gulf of Anarchy whose pit is Hell. Yet, sister, though my first word is farewell, Remember that I know your hidden woe; Have felt the grief that rends you blow on blow; Have knelt beside you in the murky cell. You never followed hate (let this atone) Nor knew the wrongs of others from your own: Wild was the road, but Love has always led, So I am silent where I cannot praise; And here now at the parting of the ways, I lay a still hand lightly on your head. Shepherd Boy and Nereid Ah, once of old in some forgotten tongue, Forgotten land, I was a shepherd boy, And you a Nereid, a wingèd joy: On through the dawn-bright peaks our bodies swung And flower-soft lyrics by immortals sung Fell from their unseen pinnacles in air: God looked from Heaven that hour, for you were fair, And I a poet, and the star was young. You’d heard my woodland pipe and left the sea-- Your hair blown gold and all your body white-- Had left the ocean-girls to follow me. We joined the hill-nymphs in their joyous flight, And you laughed lightly to the sea, and sent Quick glances flashing through me as I went. A Song at the Start Oh, down the quick river our galley is going, With a sound in the cordage, a beam on the sail: The wind of the canyon our loose hair is blowing, And the clouds of the morning are glad of the gale. Around the swift prow little billows are breaking, And flinging their foam in a glory of light; Now the shade of a rock on the river is shaking, And a wave leaps high up growing suddenly white. The weight of the whole world is light as a feather, And the peaks rise in silence and westerly flee: Oh, the world and the poet are singing together, And from the far cliff comes a sound of the sea. My Comrade I never build a song by night or day, Of breaking ocean or of blowing whin, But in some wondrous unexpected way, Like light upon a road, my Love comes in. And when I go at night upon the hill, My heart is lifted on mysterious wings: My Love is there to strengthen and to still, For she can take away the dread of things. A Lyric of the Dawn