Knowing it in his heart, But knowing not The secret of an art That few forgot, He played the twinkling part That was his lot. And when the twinkle died, As twinkles do, He pushed himself aside And out of view: Out with the wind and tide, Before we knew. THE COMPANION Let him answer as he will, Or be lightsome as he may, Now nor after shall he say Worn-out words enough to kill, Or to lull down by their craft, Doubt, that was born yesterday, When he lied and when she laughed. Let him find another name For the starlight on the snow, Let him teach her till she know That all seasons are the same, And all sheltered ways are fair,-- Still, wherever she may go, Doubt will have a dwelling there. ATHERTON’S GAMBIT The master played the bishop’s pawn, For jest, while Atherton looked on; The master played this way and that, And Atherton, amazed thereat, Said “Now I have a thing in view That will enlighten one or two, And make a difference or so In what it is they do not know.” The morning stars together sang And forth a mighty music rang-- Not heard by many, save as told Again through magic manifold, By such a few as have to play For others, in the Master’s way, The music that the Master made When all the morning stars obeyed. Atherton played the bishop’s pawn While more than one or two looked on; Atherton played this way and that, And many a friend, amused thereat, Went on about his business Nor cared for Atherton the less; A few stood longer by the game, With Atherton to them the same. The morning stars are singing still, To crown, to challenge, and to kill; And if perforce there falls a voice On pious ears that have no choice Except to urge an erring hand To wreak its homage on the land, Who of us that is worth his while Will, if he listen, more than smile? Who of us, being what he is, May scoff at others’ ecstasies? However we may shine to-day, More-shining ones are on the way; And so it were not wholly well To be at odds with Azrael,-- Nor were it kind of any one To sing the end of Atherton. FOR A DEAD LADY No more with overflowing light Shall fill the eyes that now are faded, Nor shall another’s fringe with night Their woman-hidden world as they did. No more shall quiver down the days The flowing wonder of her ways, Whereof no language may requite The shifting and the many-shaded. The grace, divine, definitive, Clings only as a faint forestalling; The laugh that love could not forgive Is hushed, and answers to no calling; The forehead and the little ears Have gone where Saturn keeps the years; The breast where roses could not live Has done with rising and with falling.