"Her sweet voice was a music in mine ear; And in the perfume of the atmosphere Which, in that eve, her shadowy presence shed, 'Sister of mystery,' trembling I said, 'Too like an angel to be what you seem, Go not away too soon, beloved dream!'" Albert Mockel is a fine musician and an excellent critic, as well as a good poet, a combination which is very rare. He is learned, subtle and brilliant. "Chantefable un peu Naïve" and "Clartés" contain musical notations of rhythms. I give here part of one of his poems called THE CHANDELIER "Jewels, ribbons, naked necks, And the living bouquet that the corsage decks; Women, undulating the soft melody Of gestures languishing, surrendering-- And the vain, scattered patter of swift words-- Silken vestures floating, faces bright, Furtive converse, gliding glances, futile kiss Of eyes that flitting round alight like birds, And flee, and come again coquettishly; Laughter, and lying ... and all flying away To the strains that spin the frivolous swarm around." I also give an extract from his "Song of Running Water," that is quite lovely. "O forest! O sweet forest, thou invitest me to rest And linger in thy shade with moss and shavegrass dressed, Imprisoning me in swoon of soft caresses That o'er me droop thy dense and leafy tresses." "Verhaeren is the triumph of the Belgian race, the greatest of modern poets," writes Stefan Zweig, who has translated many of his works. Verhaeren is much admired by the Germans and Austrians, but is not so well known in this country, as few of his books have been translated into English. As Rubens with his brush depicted carousals and excesses, so did Verhaeren depict the wildness and madness of youth with his clever pen. Emile Verhaeren was born in Flanders at St. Amand on the Scheldt, the twenty-first of May, 1855. His parents were considered well-to-do and owned a house and garden of their own on the edge of the town, overlooking the yellow cornfields and the wide river. It was here Emile's boyhood was spent, watching the peasants sow and reap, and the white sails of the boats slowly drifting down to the great ocean. He was blue-eyed and golden-haired in those days. The people loved him then, and they love him now. As a boy he was sent to the Jesuit College of Sainte Barbe, in Ghent, and it was hoped that he might in time join the order. There he began writing verses, and there too he met the poet, Georges Rodenbach, and Maeterlinck and Charles van Lerberghe, all of whom later became famous. Emile refused to become a priest and he did not wish to enter his uncle's workshop, so when his courses were finished at Sainte Barbe, he was sent to Louvain to study law. His student days were wild in the extreme. [Illustration: EMILE VERHAEREN.]