SUSANNA AND THE ELDERS "Why do You thus devise Evil against her?" "For that She is beautiful, delicate; Therefore." YOUTH But me They cannot touch, Old Age and death . . . the strange And ignominious end of old Dead folk! THE GUARDED WOUND If it Were lighter touch Than petal of flower resting On grass, oh still too heavy it were, Too heavy! WINTER The cold With steely clutch Grips all the land . . . alack, The little people in the hills Will die! NIGHT WINDS The old Old winds that blew When chaos was, what do They tell the clattered trees that I Should weep? ARBUTUS Not Spring's Thou art, but her's, Most cool, most virginal, Winter's, with thy faint breath, thy snows Rose-tinged. ROMA AETERNA The sun Is warm to-day, O Romulus, and on Thine olden Palatine the birds Still sing. "HE'S KILLED THE MAY . . ." _"He's killed the May and he's laid her by To bear the red rose company."_ Not thou, White rose, but thy Ensanguined sister is The dear companion of my heart's Shed blood. AMAZE I know Not these my hands And yet I think there was A woman like me once had hands Like these. SHADOW A-sway, On red rose, A golden butterfly . . . And on my heart a butterfly Night-wing'd. MADNESS Burdock, Blue aconite, And thistle and thorn . . . of these, Singing, I wreathe my pretty wreath O'death. THE WARNING Just now, Out of the strange Still dusk . . . as strange, as still . . . A white moth flew. Why am I grown So cold? SAYING OF IL HABOUL _Guardian of the Treasure of Solomon And Keeper of the Prophet's Armour_ My tent A vapour that The wind dispels and but As dust before the wind am I Myself. FATE DEFIED As it Were tissue of silver I'll wear, O fate, thy grey, And go mistily radiant, clad Like the moon. LAUREL IN THE BERKSHIRES Sea-foam And coral! Oh, I'll Climb the great pasture rocks And dream me mermaid in the sun's Gold flood. NIAGARA _Seen on a Night in November_ How frail Above the bulk Of crashing water hangs, Autumnal, evanescent, wan, The moon. THE GRAND CANYON By Zeus! Shout word of this To the eldest dead! Titans, Gods, Heroes, come who have once more A home! NOW BARABBAS WAS A ROBBER No guile? Nay, but so strangely He moves among us. . . . Not this Man but Barabbas! Release to us Barabbas! FOR LUCAS CRANACH's _EVE_ Oh me, Was there a time When Paradise knew Eve In this sweet guise, so placid and So young? THE SOURCE Thou hast Drawn laughter from A well of secret tears And thence so elvish it rings,--mocking And sweet: BLUE HYACINTHS In your Curled petals what ghosts Of blue headlands and seas, What perfumed immortal breath sighing Of Greece. PART TWO TO WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR Ah, Walter, where you live I rue These days come all too late for me; What matter if her eyes are blue Whose rival is Persephone? Fiesole, 1909. THE PLEDGE