Then the cloud in the sunset was riven, And bubbled and rippled with gold, And over the gorges of heaven, Like a gonfalon vast was unrolled. HEPATICAS In the frail hepaticas-- That the early Springtide tossed, Sapphire-like, along the ways Of the woodlands that she crossed-- I behold, with other eyes, Footprints of a dream that flies. One who leads me; whom I seek: In whose loveliness there is All the glamour that the Greek Knew as wind-borne Artemis.-- I am mortal. Woe is me! Her sweet immortality! Spirit, must I always fare, Following thy averted looks? Now thy white arm, now thy hair, Glimpsed among the trees and brooks? Thou who hauntest, whispering, All the slopes and vales of Spring. Cease to lure! or grant to me All thy beauty! though it pain, Slay with splendor utterly! Flash revealment on my brain! And one moment let me see All thy immortality! SPIRITS OF SPRING I Over the summer seas, From the Hesperides, Warm as the southern breeze, Gather the Spirits, Clad on with sun and rain, Fire in each ardent vein, Who, with a wild refrain, Waken the germs that the Season inherits. II See, where they come, like mist, Gleaming with amethyst, Trailing the light that kissed Vine-tangled mountains Looming o'er tropic lakes, Where every wind, that shakes Tamarisk coverts, makes Music that haunts like the falling of fountains. III You may behold the beat Of their wild hearts of heat, And their rose-flashing feet Flying before us: Hear them among the trees Whispering like far-off seas, Waking the drowsy bees, Wild-birds and flowers and torrents sonorous. IV You may behold their eyes, Star-like, that sapphire dyes, To which the blossoms rise Star-like; and shadows Flee from: and, golden deep, As through the woods they sweep, See their wild curls that keep Asphodel memories that kindle the meadows. V Music of forest-streams, Fragrance and dewy gleams, Daybreak and dawn and dreams, High things and lowly, Mix in their limbs of light, Which, what they touch of blight, Quicken to blossom white, Raise to be beautiful, perfect, and holy. VI Come! do not sit and wait Now that once desolate Fields are intoxicate With birds and flowers! And all the woods are rife With resurrected life, Passion and purple strife Of the warm winds and the turbulent showers. VII