For dynasties tho’ passing-bells be tolled, Theirs is the midmost ecstasy of June, Her music, her imperishable moon; While Time, that elsewhere is so rough and cold, Like a soft child, flower-plucking all forenoon, Gathers the ages from this garden old. Calm housemates with them in their forest lone Do Freedom, Innocence and Joy, abide: And aye as one who into Heaven hath died Thro’ mortal aisleways of melodious moan, The boatman sees, at dusk, from Arno’s tide, The Everlasting Lover with his own! THE SERPENT’S CROWN. SAID he: ‘O diligent rover! browned under many a heaven, Treasure and trophy you carry, spoils from the east and the west; Yet I fear that you passed it over, the chief clime out of the seven, My wonder-land and my island, where the chance of a knight is best. ‘There from the black mid-forest, past hemlock guards in waiting (Heard you not of the legend?), when the wide sun winks at noon, On the rock-ways sharpest, hoarest, warily undulating, A star-dappled serpent hurries, with the odorous grace of June. ‘Over her human forehead, reared among glens abysmal, Glitters a crown gold-gossamer; only a moment’s arc Crosses the creature torrid, flexile, palpitant, prismal, Then breaks on the earth, a terror spiralling into the dark. ‘Every to-day and to-morrow, as the foreign old belfries tremble With the hammer-hard heels of noon, just that instant, nor more nor less, In the blue witch-reptile’s furrow her shape stands to dissemble, And the barbed tongue tempts and entices, and the fire-eyes acquiesce. ‘Once she was a wily woman, whose glory the gods have finished, Whose handicraft still is ruin, whose glee is to snare and kill, Defier of spearman and bowman, her empery undiminished; But whoso can overcome her, shall bend the world to his will! ‘Therefore the knights importune to spur thro’ the jungles fruity, Many a lad and a hunter and a dreamer there ventureth; For the king tends power and fortune to the slayer of that demon-beauty, And awards him her crown thrice-charmèd whose captor can outwit Death, ‘Aye, ride above storm and censure, and lord it o’er time and distance, In the maddening-sweet assurance of bliss like a rose-rain shed, All for a wood-path venture, a gallant alert resistance, And a stroke of the steel in circle about that exquisite head! ‘A task for your young drilled muscle!’ But the other, in soft derision Answered him: ‘Oh, I had once some wild schemes under my hat: Some thrill for this same snake-tussle, and the heirdom of life Elysian, Long peace, long loving, long praises: but I’ve kindled and cooled on that!