To you, who are my verses, as on some very future day, if you ever care to read them, you will understand, would it not be somewhat trivial to dedicate any one verse, as I may do, in all humility, to my friends? Trivial, too, perhaps, only to name you even here? Trivial, presumptuous? For I need not write your name for you at least to know that this and all my work is made for you in the first place, and I need not to be reminded by my critics that I have no silver tongue such as were fit to praise you. So for once you shall go indedicate, if not quite anonymous; and I will only commend my little book to you in sentences far beyond my poor compass which will help you perhaps to be kind to it: "_Votre personne, vos moindres mouvements me semblaient avoir dans le monde une importance extrahumaine. Mon cœur comme de la poussière se soulevait derrière vos pas. Vous me faisiez l'effet d'un clair-de-lune par une nuit d'été, quand tout est parfums, ombres douces, blancheurs, infini; et les délices de la chair et de l'âme étaient contenues pour moi dans votre nom que je me répétais en tachant de le baiser sur mes lèvres. "Quelquefois vos paroles me reviennent comme un écho lointain, comme le son d'une cloche apporté par le vent; et il me semble que vous êtes là quand je lis des passages de l'amour dans les livres.... Tout ce qu'on y blâme d'exagéré, vous me l'avez fait ressentir._" PONT-AVEN, FINISTÈRE, 1896. VERSES _Vitae summa brevis spem nos vetat incohare longam_ They are not long, the weeping and the laughter. Love and desire and hate: I think they have no portion in us after We pass the gate. They are not long, the days of wine and roses: Out of a misty dream Our path emerges for a while, then closes Within a dream. A CORONAL WITH HIS SONGS AND HER DAYS TO HIS LADY AND TO LOVE Violets and leaves of vine, Into a frail, fair wreath We gather and entwine: A wreath for Love to wear, Fragrant as his own breath, To crown his brow divine, All day till night is near. Violets and leaves of vine We gather and entwine. Violets and leaves of vine For Love that lives a day, We gather and entwine. All day till Love is dead, Till eve falls, cold and gray, These blossoms, yours and mine, Love wears upon his head, Violets and leaves of vine We gather and entwine. Violets and leaves of vine, For Love when poor Love dies We gather and entwine. This wreath that lives a day Over his pale, cold eyes, Kissed shut by Proserpine, At set of sun we lay: Violets and leaves of vine We gather and entwine. NUNS OF THE PERPETUAL ADORATION Calm, sad, secure; behind high convent walls, These watch the sacred lamp, these watch and pray: And it is one with them when evening falls, And one with them the cold return of day.