And often, underneath the apple-trees, When we surprised him in the summer time, With what superb magnificence and ease He sinned enough to make the day sublime! And if he liked us there about his knees, Truly it was no crime. All summer long we loved him for the same Perennial inspiration of his lies; And when the russet wealth of autumn came, There flew but fairer visions to our eyes-- Multiple, tropical, winged with a feathery flame, Like birds of paradise. So to the sheltered end of many a year He charmed the seasons out with pageantry, Wearing upon his forehead, with no fear, The laurel of approved iniquity. And every child who knew him, far or near, Did love him faithfully. THE WHIP The doubt you fought so long, The cynic net you cast, The tyranny, the wrong, The ruin, they are past; And here you are at last, Your blood no longer vexed. The coffin has you fast, The clod will have you next. But fear you not the clod, Nor ever doubt the grave: The roses and the sod Will not forswear the wave. The gift the river gave Is now but theirs to cover: The mistress and the slave Are gone now, and the lover. You left the two to find Their own way to the brink: Then--shall I call you blind?-- You chose to plunge and sink. God knows the gall we drink Is not the mead we cry for, Nor was it, I should think-- For you--a thing to die for. Could we have done the same, Had we been in your place?-- This funeral of your name Throws no light on the case.-- Could we have made the chase, And felt then as you felt?-- But what’s this on your face, Blue, curious, like a welt? There were some ropes of sand Recorded long ago, But none, I understand, Of water. Is it so? And she--she struck the blow, You but a neck behind.... You saw the river flow-- Still, shall I call you blind? THE WHITE LIGHTS (BROADWAY, 1906) When in from Delos came the gold That held the dream of Pericles, When first Athenian ears were told The tumult of Euripides, When men met Aristophanes, Who fledged them with immortal quills-- Here, where the time knew none of these, There were some islands and some hills. When Rome went ravening to see The sons of mothers end their days, When Flaccus bade Leuconoë To banish her Chaldean ways, When first the pearled, alembic phrase Of Maro into music ran-- Here there was neither blame nor praise For Rome, or for the Mantuan. When Avon, like a faery floor, Lay freighted, for the eyes of One, With galleons laden long before By moonlit wharves in Avalon-- Here, where the white lights have begun To seethe a way for something fair, No prophet knew, from what was done, That there was triumph in the air.