Knee-deep amid the dews, the flowers there, Beneath the stars that now were everywhere Flung through the perfumed heavens of angel hands, And, linked in tangled labyrinths and bands Of soft rose-hearted flame and glimmer, rolled One vast immensity of mazy gold, He sang; like some hurt creature, desolate, Heart-aching for the loss of some wild mate Hounded and speared to death of heartless men In old romantic Arden waste; and then Turned to the moon that, like a polished stone Of precious worth, low in the heaven shone, A pale poetic face and passed away From the urned terrace and the fountains' spray. And that fair lady in dim drapery, High in the old red tower--did she sigh To see him fading through the purple night, His lute faint-twinkling in th' uncertain light, Then lost amid the rose-pleached avenues, Dark walls of ivy, hedged with low-clipped yews? And left alone with but the whispering rush Of fountains and the evening's hyacinth hush, Did she complain unto the stars above, All the lone night, of that forbidden love? Or down the rush-strewn stairs, where arras old Waved with her mantled passage, fold on fold, Beyond the tower's iron-studded gate, That snarled with rust, did she steal forth and wait Deep in the dingled lavender and rose For him, her troubadour?... Who knows? who knows? MY ROMANCE If it so befalls that the midnight hovers In mist no moonlight breaks, The leagues of the years my spirit covers, And my self myself forsakes. And I live in a land of stars and flowers, White cliffs by a silver sea; And the pearly points of her opal towers From the mountains beckon me. And I think that I know that I hear her calling From a casement bathed with light-- Thro' music of waters in waters falling 'Mid palms from a mountain height. And I feel that I think my love's awaited By the romance of her charms; That her feet are early and mine belated In a world that chains my arms. But I break my chains and the rest is easy-- In the shadow of the rose, Snow-white, that blooms in her garden breezy, We meet and no one knows. We dream sweet dreams and kiss sweet kisses; The world--it may live or die! The world that forgets; that never misses The life that has long gone by. We speak old vows that have long been spoken, And weep a long-gone woe,-- For you must know our hearts were broken Hundreds of years ago. THE EPIC "To arms!" the battle bugles blew. The daughter of their Chief was she,-- Lord of a thousand spears and true;-- He but a squire of low degree. The horns of war blew up to horse: He kissed her mouth; her face was white: "God grant they bear thee back no corse!" "God give I win my spurs to-night!"