SHE.
To H. R. H.
Not in the waste beyond the swamps and sand, The fever-haunted forest and lagoon, Mysterious Kor thy walls forsaken stand, Thy lonely towers beneath the lonely moon, Not there doth Ayesha linger, rune by rune Spelling strange scriptures of a people banned.
The world is disenchanted; over soon Shall Europe send her spies through all the land.
Nay, not in Kor, but in whatever spot, In town or field, or by the insatiate sea, Men brood on buried loves, and unforgot, Or break themselves on some divine decree, Or would o'erleap the limits of their lot, There, in the tombs and deathless, dwelleth SHE!
HERODOTUS IN EGYPT.
He left the land of youth, he left the young, The smiling gods of Greece; he passed the isle Where Jason loitered, and where Sappho sung, He sought the secret-founted wave of Nile, And of their old world, dead a weary while, Heard the priests murmur in their mystic tongue, And through the fanes went voyaging, among Dark tribes that worshipped Cat and Crocodile.
He learned the tales of death Divine and birth, Strange loves of Hawk and Serpent, Sky and Earth, The marriage, and the slaying of the Sun.
The shrines of gods and beasts he wandered through, And mocked not at their godhead, for he knew Behind all creeds the Spirit that is One.
GERARD DE NERVAL.
Of all that were thy prisons - ah, untamed, Ah, light and sacred soul! - none holds thee now;No wall, no bar, no body of flesh, but thou Art free and happy in the lands unnamed, Within whose gates, on weary wings and maimed, Thou still would'st bear that mystic golden bough The Sibyl doth to singing men allow, Yet thy report folk heeded not, but blamed.
And they would smile and wonder, seeing where Thou stood'st, to watch light leaves, or clouds, or wind, Dreamily murmuring a ballad air, Caught from the Valois peasants; dost thou find A new life gladder than the old times were, A love more fair than Sylvie, and as kind?
RONSARD.
Master, I see thee with the locks of grey, Crowned by the Muses with the laurel-wreath;I see the roses hiding underneath, Cassandra's gift; she was less dear than they.
Thou, Master, first hast roused the lyric lay, The sleeping song that the dead years bequeath, Hast sung thine answer to the lays that breathe Through ages, and through ages far away.
And thou hast heard the pulse of Pindar beat, Known Horace by the fount Bandusian!
Their deathless line thy living strains repeat, But ah, thy voice is sad, thy roses wan, But ah, thy honey is not honey-sweet, Thy bees have fed on yews Sardinian!
LOVE'S MIRACLE.
With other helpless folk about the gate, The gate called Beautiful, with weary eyes That take no pleasure in the summer skies, Nor all things that are fairest, does she wait;So bleak a time, so sad a changeless fate Makes her with dull experience early wise, And in the dawning and the sunset, sighs That all hath been, and shall be, desolate.
Ah, if Love come not soon, and bid her live, And know herself the fairest of fair things, Ah, if he have no healing gift to give, Warm from his breast, and holy from his wings, Or if at least Love's shadow in passing by Touch not and heal her, surely she must die.
DREAMS.
He spake not truth, however wise, who said That happy, and that hapless men in sleep Have equal fortune, fallen from care as deep As countless, careless, races of the dead.
Not so, for alien paths of dreams we tread, And one beholds the faces that he sighs In vain to bring before his daylit eyes, And waking, he remembers on his bed;And one with fainting heart and feeble hand Fights a dim battle in a doubtful land Where strength and courage were of no avail;And one is borne on fairy breezes far To the bright harbours of a golden star Down fragrant fleeting waters rosy pale.
TWO SONNETS OF THE SIRENS.
'Les Sirenes estoient tant intimes amies et fidelles compagnes de Proserpine, qu'elles estoient toujours ensemble. Esmues du juste deul de la perte de leur chere compagne, et enuyees jusques au desepoir, elles s'arresterent e la mer Sicilienne, ou par leurs chants elles attiroient les navigans, mais l'unique fin de la volupte de leur musique est la Mort.'
