The Poets

Some cry of Sappho's lyre, of Saadi's flute,

Comes back across the waste of mortal things: Men strive and die to reach the Dead Sea fruit — Only the poets find immortal springs.

Love will outwatch the stars, and light the skies When the last star falls, and the silent dark

devours;

God's warrior, he will watch the allotted hours,
And conquer with the look of his sad eyes;
He shakes the kingdom of darkness with his sighs,
His quiet sighs, while all the Infernal Powers
Tremble and pale upon their central towers,
Lest, haply, his bright universe arise.

All will be well if he have strength to wait,
Till his lost Pleiad, white and silver-shod,

Love's Vigil

Regains her place to make the perfect Seven;
Then all the worlds will know that Love is Fate-
That somehow he is greater even than Heaven
That in the Cosmic Council he is God.

Two at a Fireside

I built a chimney for a comrade old,

I did the service not for hope or hire And then I traveled on in winter's cold, Yet all the day I glowed before the fire.

The Butterfly

O winged brother on the harebell, stay
Was God's hand very pitiful, the hand
That wrought thy beauty at a dream's demand?
Yea, knowing I love so well the flowery way,
He did not fling me to the world astray —
He did not drop me to the weary sand,
But bore me gently to a leafy land:
Tinting my wings, He gave me to the day.

Oh, chide no more my doubting, my despair!
I will go back now to the world of men.
Farewell, I leave thee to the world of air,

Yet thou hast girded up my heart again;
For He that framed the impenetrable plan,
And keeps His word with thee, will keep with

man.