If any man, with sleepless care oppressed, On many a night had risen, and addressed His hand to make him out of joy and moan An image of sweet sleep in carven stone, Light touch by touch, in weary moments planned, He would have wrought her with a patient hand, Not like her brother death, with massive limb And dreamless brow, unstartled, changeless, dim, But very fair, though fitful and afraid, More sweet and slight than any mortal maid. Her hair he would have carved a mantle smooth Down to her tender feet to wrap and soothe All fevers in, yet barbèd here and there With many a hidden sting of restless care; Her brow most quiet, thick with opiate rest, Yet watchfully lined, as if some hovering guest Of noiseless doubt were there; so too her eyes His light hand would have carved in cunning wise Broad with all languor of the drowsy South, Most beautiful, but held askance; her mouth More soft and round than any rose half-spread, Yet ever twisted with some nervous dread. He would have made her with one marble foot, Frail as a snow-white feather, forward put, Bearing sweet medicine for all distress, Smooth languor and unstrung forgetfulness; The other held a little back for dread; One slender moonpale hand held forth to shed Soft slumber dripping from its pearly tip Into wide eyes; the other on her lip. So in the watches of his sleepless care The cunning artist would have wrought her fair; Shy goddess, at keen seeking most afraid Yet often coming, when we least have prayed. THREE FLOWER PETALS. What saw I yesterday walking apart In a leafy place where the cattle wait? Something to keep for a charm in my heart-- A little sweet girl in a garden gate. Laughing she lay in the gold sun's might, And held for a target to shelter her, In her little soft fingers, round and white, The gold-rimmed face of a sunflower. Laughing she lay on the stone that stands For a rough-hewn step in that sunny place, And her yellow hair hung down to her hands, Shadowing over her dimpled face. Her eyes like the blue of the sky, made dim With the might of the sun that looked at her, Shone laughing over the serried rim, Golden set, of the sunflower. Laughing, for token she gave to me Three petals out of the sunflower;-- When the petals are withered and gone, shall be Three verses of mine for praise of her, That a tender dream of her face may rise And lighten me yet in another hour, Of her sunny hair and her beautiful eyes, Laughing over the gold sunflower. PASSION. As a weed beneath the ocean, As a pool beneath a tree Answers with each breath or motion An imperious mastery;