Asleep, amazed, with lolling head, Arms in supplication spread, Body shudders, dumb with fear; There lifts the Moon, but who am I, Cloaked in shadow wavering by, Stooping, muttering at his ear? Bound is Body, foot and hand, Bound to lie at my command, Horror bolted to lie still While I sap what sense I will. Through the darkness here come I, Softly fold about the prey; Body moaning must obey, Must not question who or why, Must accept me, come what may, Dumbly must obey. When owls and cocks dispute the dawn, Through the window I am drawn Streaming out, a foggy breath. ... Body wakens with a sigh From the spell that was half Death, Smiles for freedom, blinks an eye At the sun-commanded sky, "O morning scent and treetop song, Slow-rising smoke and nothing wrong!" THE HILLS OF MAY Walking with a virgin heart The green hills of May, Me, the Wind, she took as lover By her side to play. Let me toss her untied hair, Let me shake her gown, Careless though the daisies redden, Though the Sun frown. Scorning in her gay courage Lesser love than this, My cool spiritual embracing, My gentle kiss. So she walked, the proud lady, So danced or ran, So she loved with a calm heart, Neglecting man.... Fade, fail, innocent stars On the green of May; She has left our bournes for ever, Too fine to stay. THE CORONATION MURDER In Four Parts "Fairplay's good sport, and we're all mortal worms."--Mrs. Delilah Becker. I _Blessed above all women Shall Jael the wife of Heber the Kenite be._ Jael, a queen in Heaven Surely will speak out straight in defence of me. Shall I despair Salvation? Was Sisera then more ripe for the knife or nail Than rat-soul'd Becker? Do I misread the tale? I was no stealthy serpent. (Jael flattered and killed her man as he slept.) I was a lion, I challenged before I leapt. Three times I gave clear warning (Fair-play's good sport), then standing I struck him dead. Ram-faced lecher, the blood on his own beast head! _Blessed above all women Shall Jael the wife of Heber the Kenite be._ Ah, she won fame for her triumph, My inward joy was payment enough for me. II Old Becker crawling in the night From his grave at the stair-foot, Labours up the long flight, Feeble, dribbling, black as soot, Quakes at his own ghostly fright. A cat goes past with lantern eyes Shooting splendour through the dark. Murder! Help! a voice cries In nightmare; the son dreams that stark In lead his vanished father lies. A stair-top glimmer points the goal. Becker goes wavering up, tongue-tied, Stoops, with eye to keyhole.... There, a tall candle by her side, Delilah sits, serene and whole.