A land of Silence, Where pale stars shine On apple-blossoms And dew-drenched vine, Be yours and mine! TERRE PROMISE Even now the fragrant darkness of her hair Had brushed my cheek; and once, in passing by, Her hand upon my hand lay tranquilly: What things unspoken trembled in the air! Always I know, how little severs me From mine heart's country, that is yet so far; And must I lean and long across a bar, That half a word would shatter utterly? Ah might it be, that just by touch of hand, Or speaking silence, shall the barrier fall; And she shall pass, with no vain words at all, But droop into mine arms, and understand! AUTUMNAL Pale amber sunlight falls across The reddening October trees, That hardly sway before a breeze As soft as summer: summer's loss Seems little, dear! on days like these. Let misty autumn be our part! The twilight of the year is sweet: Where shadow and the darkness meet Our love, a twilight of the heart Eludes a little time's deceit. Are we not better and at home In dreamful Autumn, we who deem No harvest joy is worth a dream? A little while and night shall come, A little while, then, let us dream. Beyond the pearled horizons lie Winter and night: awaiting these We garner this poor hour of ease, Until love turn from us and die Beneath the drear November trees. IN TEMPORE SENECTUTIS When I am old, And sadly steal apart, Into the dark and cold, Friend of my heart! Remember, if you can, Not him who lingers, but that other man, Who loved and sang, and had a beating heart,-- When I am old! When I am old, And all Love's ancient fire Be tremulous and cold: My soul's desire! Remember, if you may, Nothing of you and me but yesterday, When heart on heart we bid the years conspire To make us old. When I am old, And every star above Be pitiless and cold: My life's one love! Forbid me not to go: Remember nought of us but long ago, And not at last, how love and pity strove When I grew old! VILLANELLE OF HIS LADY'S TREASURES I took her dainty eyes, as well As silken tendrils of her hair: And so I made a Villanelle! I took her voice, a silver bell, As clear as song, as soft as prayer; I took her dainty eyes as well. It may be, said I, who can tell, These things shall be my less despair? And so I made a Villanelle! I took her whiteness virginal And from her cheek two roses rare: I took her dainty eyes as well. I said: "It may be possible Her image from my heart to tear!" And so I made a Villanelle. I stole her laugh, most musical: I wrought it in with artful care; I took her dainty eyes as well; And so I made a Villanelle. GRAY NIGHTS