Dome of Many-Coloured Glass | Page 5

evening to crowd the footsteps of noon.
But when that long awaited day
Hangs ripe in the heavens, your
voyaging stay.
Be morning, O Sun! with the lark in song,
Be
afternoon for ages long.
And, Moon, let you and your lesser lights

Watch over a century of nights.
Behind a Wall
I own a solace shut within my heart,
A garden full of many a quaint
delight
And warm with drowsy, poppied sunshine; bright,
Flaming
with lilies out of whose cups dart
Shining things
With powdered wings.
Here terrace sinks to terrace, arbors close
The ends of dreaming paths;
a wanton wind
Jostles the half-ripe pears, and then, unkind,

Tumbles a-slumber in a pillar rose,
With content
Grown indolent.
By night my garden is o'erhung with gems
Fixed in an onyx setting.
Fireflies
Flicker their lanterns in my dazzled eyes.
In serried rows I
guess the straight, stiff stems
Of hollyhocks
Against the rocks.
So far and still it is that, listening,
I hear the flowers talking in the
dawn;
And where a sunken basin cuts the lawn,
Cinctured with iris,
pale and glistening,
The sudden swish
Of a waking fish.

A Winter Ride
Who shall declare the joy of the running!
Who shall tell of the
pleasures of flight!
Springing and spurning the tufts of wild heather,

Sweeping, wide-winged, through the blue dome of light.

Everything mortal has moments immortal,
Swift and God-gifted,
immeasurably bright.
So with the stretch of the white road before me,
Shining snowcrystals
rainbowed by the sun,
Fields that are white, stained with long, cool,
blue shadows, Strong with the strength of my horse as we run.
Joy in
the touch of the wind and the sunlight!
Joy! With the vigorous earth I
am one.
A Coloured Print by Shokei
It winds along the face of a cliff
This path which I long to explore,

And over it dashes a waterfall,
And the air is full of the roar
And
the thunderous voice of waters which sweep
In a silver torrent over
some steep.
It clears the path with a mighty bound
And tumbles below and away,

And the trees and the bushes which grow in the rocks
Are wet with
its jewelled spray;
The air is misty and heavy with sound,
And
small, wet wildflowers star the ground.
Oh! The dampness is very good to smell,
And the path is soft to tread,

And beyond the fall it winds up and on,
While little streamlets
thread
Their own meandering way down the hill
Each singing its
own little song, until
I forget that 't is only a pictured path,
And I hear the water and wind,

And look through the mist, and strain my eyes
To see what there is
behind;
For it must lead to a happy land,
This little path by a
waterfall spanned.

Song
Oh! To be a flower
Nodding in the sun,
Bending, then upspringing

As the breezes run;
Holding up
A scent-brimmed cup,
Full of
summer's fragrance to the summer sun.
Oh! To be a butterfly
Still, upon a flower,
Winking with its painted
wings,
Happy in the hour.
Blossoms hold
Mines of gold
Deep
within the farthest heart of each chaliced flower.
Oh! To be a cloud
Blowing through the blue,
Shadowing the
mountains,
Rushing loudly through
Valleys deep
Where torrents
keep
Always their plunging thunder and their misty arch of blue.
Oh! To be a wave
Splintering on the sand,
Drawing back, but
leaving
Lingeringly the land.
Rainbow light
Flashes bright

Telling tales of coral caves half hid in yellow sand.
Soon they die, the flowers;
Insects live a day;
Clouds dissolve in
showers;
Only waves at play
Last forever.
Shall endeavor
Make
a sea of purpose mightier than we dream to-day?
The Fool Errant
The Fool Errant sat by the highway of life
And his gaze wandered up
and his gaze wandered down,
A vigorous youth, but with no wish to
walk,
Yet his longing was great for the distant town.
He whistled a little frivolous tune
Which he felt to be pulsing with
ecstasy,
For he thought that success always followed desire,
Such a
very superlative fool was he.
A maiden came by on an ambling mule,
Her gown was rose-red and
her kerchief blue,
On her lap she carried a basket of eggs.
Thought
the fool, "There is certainly room for two."

So he jauntily swaggered towards the maid
And put out his hand to
the bridle-rein.
"My pretty girl," quoth the fool, "take me up,
For to
ride with you to the town I am fain."
But the maiden struck at his upraised arm
And pelted him hotly with
eggs, a score.
The mule, lashed into a fury, ran;
The fool went back
to his stone and swore.
Then out of the cloud of settling dust
The burly form of an abbot
appeared,
Reading his office he rode to the town.
And the fool got
up, for his heart was cheered.
He stood in the midst of the long, white road
And swept off his cap
till it touched the ground.
"Ah, Reverent Sir, well met," said the fool,

"A worthier transport never was found.
"I pray you allow me to mount with you,
Your palfrey seems both
sturdy and young."
The abbot looked up from the holy book
And
cried out in anger, "Hold your tongue!
"How dare you obstruct the King's highroad,
You saucy varlet, get
out of