O heavenly Muse, for heavenly thee we call Who in the fire of love refinest all, Accurst is he who heark'neth not thy voice; But happy he who, numbered of thy choice, Walketh aloof from nature's clouded plan: For all God's world is but the thought of man; Wherein hast thou re-formed a world apart, The mutual mirror of his better heart. There is no foulness, misery, nor sin, But he who loves finds his desire therein, And there with thee in lonely commerce lives: Nay, all that nature gave or fortune gives, Joys that his spirit is most jealous of, His only-embraced and best-deserving love, Who walketh in the noon of heavenly praise, The troubled godhead of his children's gaze, Wear thine eternity, and are loved best By thee transfigured and in thee possest; Who madest beauty, and from thy boundless store Of beauty shalt create for evermore. 1900. 2 Gay Marigold is frolic, She laughs till summer is done; She hears the Grillie chirping All day i' the blazing sun. But when the pale moon rises, She fain her face would hide; For the high Queen of sorrows Disdains her empty pride. * * * Fair Primrose haunts the shadow With children of the Spring, Till in the bloomy woodland The nightingale will sing. And when he lauds the May-night And spirits throng the grove, The moon shines thro' the branches And floods her heart with love. 3 MATRES DOLOROSAE Ye Spartan mothers, gentle ones, Of lion-hearted, loving sons, Fal'n, the flower of English youth, To a barbarous foe in a land uncouth:-- O what a delicate sacrifice! Unequal the stake and costly the price As when the queen of Love deplor'd Her darling by the wild-beast gor'd. They rode to war as if to the hunt, But ye at home, ye bore the brunt, Bore the siege of torturing fears, Fed your hope on the bread of tears. Proud and spotless warriors they With love or sword to lead the way; For ye had cradled heart and hand, The commander hearken'd to your command. Ah, weeping mothers, now all is o'er, Ye know your honour and mourn no more: Nor ask ye a name in England's story, Who gave your dearest for her glory. _May 20, 1902._ 4 A VIGNETTE Among the meadows lightly going, With worship and joy my heart o'erflowing, Far from town and toil of living, To a holy day my spirit giving,... * * * Thou tender flower, I kneel beside thee Wondering why God so beautified thee.-- An answering thought within me springeth, A bloom of the mind her vision bringeth. Between the dim hill's distant azure And flowery foreground of sparkling pleasure