The winds are lashing on the sea; The roads are blind with storm. And it's far and far away with me; So bide you there, stay warm. It's forth I must, and forth to-day; And I have no path to choose. The highway hill, it is my way still.-- Give me my golden shoes. _God gave them me on that first day I knew that I was young. And I looked far forth, from west to north; And I heard the Songs unsung._ This cloak is worn too threadbare thin, But ah, how weatherwise! This girdle serves to bind it in; What heed of wondering eyes?-- And yet beside, I wear one pride --Too bright, think you, to use?-- That I must wear, and still keep fair.-- Give here my golden shoes. _God gave them me, on that first day I heard the Stars all chime. And I looked forth far, from road to star; And I knew it was far to climb._ They would buy me house and hearth, no doubt, And the mirth to spend and share; Could I sell that gift, and go without, Or wear--what neighbors wear. But take my staff, my purse, my scrip; For I have one thing to choose. For you,--Godspeed! May you soothe your need. For me, my golden shoes! _He gave them me, that far, first day When I heard all Songs unsung. And I looked far forth, from west to north. God saw that I was young!_ NOON AT PÆSTUM Lord of the Sea, we sun-filled creatures raise Our hands among the clamorous weeds,--we too. Lord of the Sun, and of the upper blue, Of all To-morrow, and all yesterdays, Here, where the thousand broken names and ways Of worship are but shards we wandered through, There is no gift to offer, or undo; There is no prayer left in us, only praise. Only to glory in this glory here, Through the dead smoke of myriad sacrifice;-- To look through these blue spaces, blind and clear Even as the seaward gaze of Homer's eyes; And from uplifted heart, and cup, to pour Wine to the Unknown God.--We ask no more. VESTAL FLAME Light, light,--the last: Till the night be done, Keep the watch for stars and sun, and eyelids over-cast. Once there seemed a sky, Brooding over men. Now no stars have come again, since their bright good-bye! Once my dreams were wise. Now I nothing know; Fasting and the dark have so put out my heart's eyes. But thy golden breath Burns against my cheek. I can feel and love, and seek all the rune it saith. Do not thou be spent, Holy thing of fire,-- Only hope of heart's desire dulled with wonderment! While there bide these two Hands to bar the wind; Though such fingers chill and thinned, shed no roses through. While this body bends Only for thy guard; Like a tower, to ward and worship all the light it sends. It is not for fear Lest there ring some cry On the midnight, 'Rise and come. Lo, the Bridegroom near!' It is not for pride, To be shining fair In a wedding-garment there, lighting home the Bride. It is not to win Love, for hoarded toil, From those poor, with their spent oil, weeping, 'Light us in!'--