But I have that shall fill this wound of mine, Since Loveliness must be;-- Since Loveliness must save us, or we pine And perish utterly. All that the years have left us, undismayed Of age or death; and happier fair than truth, --When truth is fair! Shapes of immortal sweetness, to persuade Iron and fire and marble to their youth; Wild graces trapped from the three kingdoms' lair Of wildest Beauty; shadow and smile and hush; --Fleet color, of a daybreak, of a blush, For my sad soul to wear! Let April fade! For me, unfading bloom!... The little fruitless seed Deep sown of fire within the midmost gloom, A sterner fire to feed:-- The rainbow, frozen in a lasting dew; Green-gazing emerald, fresh as grass beneath The placid rose. Fair pearl, and you, fair pearl, and you and you, Rained from the moon, and kissing in a wreath, As moment unto eager moment goes! Look back at me, you sapphires blue and wise With farthest twilight, blue resplendent eyes That never weep, nor close. O house me, glories! Give me house and home Here for my homelessness. Set forth for me the wine, the honeycomb Whereto desire saith 'Yes!' O Senses, weave me from all lovely dust Some home-array, some fair familiar garb For me, exiled. Charm me some rare anointment I may trust Against her query, searching like a barb The dumbness of a heart unreconciled. Clothe me with silver; fold me from dismay; Save me from pity. For I hear her say, 'Alas, Alas, poor child!' 'Alas, Alas, thou lost poor child, how long? Why wilt thou suffer want? Why must I hear thy weeping through thy song, And see thine eyes grow gaunt? Making sad feast upon the crumbs of light Shed long ago from heavenly highways where Thy brethren are! And thy heart smoulders in thee, to be bright, Thy one sole refuge from thy one despair, Fraying the thwarted body with a scar. How long, before thine eyelids, desolate, How long shall this thy dark dominion wait For thee, belated Star?' _Belovèd, if the Moon could weep, Or if the Sun could see How all these weltering alleys keep Their outcast treasury!_ _O bitter, bitter-sweet!-- Beauty of babyhood,-- Earth's wistful uttermost of good Flung out upon the street; Fouled, even as the highways would, With mirk and mire and bruise; The cheek more petal-fine Than rose before a shrine! Those hands like star-fish in the ooze, And fingers fain to cling To any stronger thing! And smiles, for one triumphal Gift, Should one lean down, and lift! And tendril hair;--O in such wise, With wild lights aureoled, The morning-glories twine and hold, In some far paradise!_ _Oh well and deep, the foul ways keep Lost treasure hid from day!-- Sun may not see: but only we, Who look; and look away._ THE GOLDEN SHOES