Grass of Parnassus | Page 9

I;
Delight is
changeful as the hue
Of heaven, that is no longer blue
In yonder
sunset sky.
ELLE.
Nay, if we seek we shall not find,
If we knock none openeth;
Nay,
see, the sunset fades behind
The mountains, and the cold night wind

Blows from the house of Death.
NIGHTINGALE WEATHER.
'Serai-je nonnette, oui ou non?
Semi-je nonnette? je crois que non.

Derriere chez mon pere
Il est un bois taillis,
Le rossignol y chante

Et le jour et la nuit.
Il chante pour les filles
Qui n'ont pas d'ami;

Il ne chant pas pour moi,
J'en ai un, Dieu merci.'--Old French.
I'll never be a nun, I trow,
While apple bloom is white as snow,
But
far more fair to see;
I'll never wear nun's black and white
While
nightingales make sweet the night
Within the apple tree.

Ah, listen! 'tis the nightingale,
And in the wood he makes his wail,

Within the apple tree;
He singeth of the sore distress
Of many
ladies loverless;
Thank God, no song for me.
For when the broad May moon is low,
A gold fruit seen where
blossoms blow
In the boughs of the apple tree,
A step I know is at
the gate;
Ah love, but it is long to wait
Until night's noon bring
thee!
Between lark's song and nightingale's
A silent space, while dawning
pales,
The birds leave still and free
For words and kisses musical,

For silence and for sighs that fall
In the dawn, 'twixt him and me.
LOVE AND WISDOM.
'When last we gathered roses in the garden
I found my wits, but truly
you lost yours.'
The Broken Heart.
July and June brought flowers and love
To you, but I would none
thereof,
Whose heart kept all through summer time
A flower of
frost and winter rime.
Yours was true wisdom--was it not?
Even
love; but I had clean forgot,
Till seasons of the falling leaf,
All
loves, but one that turned to grief.
At length at touch of autumn tide

When roses fell, and summer died,
All in a dawning deep with dew,

Love flew to me, Love fled from you.
The roses drooped their
weary heads,
I spoke among the garden beds;
You would not hear,
you could not know,
Summer and love seemed long ago,
As far, as
faint, as dim a dream,
As to the dead this world may seem.
Ah
sweet, in winter's miseries,
Perchance you may remember this,
How
Wisdom was not justified
In summer time or autumn tide,
Though
for this once below the sun,

Wisdom and Love were made at one;

But Love was bitter-bought enough,
And Wisdom light of wing as
Love.

GOOD-BYE.
Kiss me, and say good-bye;
Good-bye, there is no word to say but
this,
Nor any lips left for my lips to kiss,
Nor any tears to shed,
when these tears dry;
Kiss me, and say, good-bye.
Farewell, be glad, forget;
There is no need to say 'forget,' I know,

For youth is youth, and time will have it so,
And though your lips are
pale, and your eyes wet,
Farewell, you must forget.
You shall bring home your sheaves,
Many, and heavy, and with
blossoms twined
Of memories that go not out of mind;
Let this one
sheaf be twined with poppy leaves
When you bring home your
sheaves.
In garnered loves of thine,
The ripe good fruit of many hearts and
years,
Somewhere let this lie, grey and salt with tears;
It grew too
near the sea wind, and the brine
Of life, this love of mine.
This sheaf was spoiled in spring,
And over-long was green, and early
sere,
And never gathered gold in the late year
From autumn suns,
and moons of harvesting,
But failed in frosts of spring.
Yet was it thine, my sweet,
This love, though weak as young corn
withered,
Whereof no man may gather and make bread;
Thine,
though it never knew the summer heat;
Forget not quite, my sweet.
AN OLD PRAYER.
[Greek text]
Odyssey, XIII.
My prayer an old prayer borroweth,
Of ancient love and memory--

'Do thou farewell, till Eld and Death,
That come to all men, come to
thee.'
Gently as winter's early breath,
Scarce felt, what time the

swallows flee,
To lands whereof no man knoweth
Of summer, over
land and sea;
So with thy soul may summer be,
Even as the ancient
singer saith,
'Do thou farewell, till Eld and Death,
That come to all
men, come to thee.'
A LA BELLE HELENE.
After Ronsard.
More closely than the clinging vine
About the wedded tree,
Clasp
thou thine arms, ah, mistress mine!
About the heart of me.
Or seem
to sleep, and stoop your face
Soft on my sleeping eyes,
Breathe in
your life, your heart, your grace,
Through me, in kissing wise.
Bow
down, bow down your face, I pray,
To me, that swoon to death,

Breathe back the life you kissed away,
Breathe back your kissing
breath.
So by your eyes I swear and say,
My mighty oath and sure,

From your kind arms no maiden may
My loving heart allure.
I'll
bear your yoke, that's light enough,
And to the Elysian plain,
When
we are dead of love, my love,
One boat shall bear us twain.
They'll
flock around you, fleet and fair,
All true loves that have been,
And
you of all the shadows there,
Shall be the shadow queen.
Ah,
shadow-loves and shadow-lips!
Ah, while 'tis called to-day,
Love
me, my love, for summer slips,
And August ebbs away.