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Blooms of the Berry
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Each wore a scarf athwart his weeds
Of freshest green.
VIII
And aye a beam of silver light
Fairer than moonshine danced aboon,
And shook their locks – a glimmering white
Not of the moon.
IX
Small were they that the hare-bell's blue
Had helmeted each tiny head;
Save one damsel, who, tall as two,
The Faeries led.
X
Long tresses floated from a tire
Of diamond sparks, which cast a light,
And o'er her white sark shook, in fire
Rippling the night.
XI
I would have thrown me 'neath her feet,
And told her all my dole and pain,
There while her rein was jingling sweet
O'er all the plain.
XII
Alas! a black and thwarting cock
Crew from the thatch with long-necked cry —
The Elfin queen and her wee flock
In the night did die.
IN AN OLD GARDEN
The Autumn pines and fades
Upon the withered trees;
And over there, a choked despair,
You hear the moaning breeze.
The violets are dead;
Dead the tall hollyhocks,
That hang like rags on the wind-crushed flags,
And the lilies' livid stocks.
The wild gourd clambers free
Where the clematis was wont;
Where nenuphars waxed thick as stars
Rank weeds stagnate the font.
Yet in my dreams I hear
A tinkling mandolin;
In the dark blue light of a fragrant night
Float in and out and in.
And the dewy vine that climbs
To my lady's lattice sways,
And behind the vine there come to shine
Two pleasant eyes and gaze.
And now a perfume comes,
A swift Favonian gust;
And the shrinking grass where it doth pass
Bows slave-like to the dust.
In dreams I see her drift
A mist of drapery;
In her jeweled shawl divinely tall,
A Dian deity.
The moon broods high and full
O'er the broken Psyche cold,
And there she stands her dainty hands
And thin wrists warm with gold.
But lovers now are dead,
The air is stung with frosts;
And naught may you find save the homeless wind,
Dead violets' ghosts and ghosts.
Of freshest green.
VIII
And aye a beam of silver light
Fairer than moonshine danced aboon,
And shook their locks – a glimmering white
Not of the moon.
IX
Small were they that the hare-bell's blue
Had helmeted each tiny head;
Save one damsel, who, tall as two,
The Faeries led.
X
Long tresses floated from a tire
Of diamond sparks, which cast a light,
And o'er her white sark shook, in fire
Rippling the night.
XI
I would have thrown me 'neath her feet,
And told her all my dole and pain,
There while her rein was jingling sweet
O'er all the plain.
XII
Alas! a black and thwarting cock
Crew from the thatch with long-necked cry —
The Elfin queen and her wee flock
In the night did die.
IN AN OLD GARDEN
The Autumn pines and fades
Upon the withered trees;
And over there, a choked despair,
You hear the moaning breeze.
The violets are dead;
Dead the tall hollyhocks,
That hang like rags on the wind-crushed flags,
And the lilies' livid stocks.
The wild gourd clambers free
Where the clematis was wont;
Where nenuphars waxed thick as stars
Rank weeds stagnate the font.
Yet in my dreams I hear
A tinkling mandolin;
In the dark blue light of a fragrant night
Float in and out and in.
And the dewy vine that climbs
To my lady's lattice sways,
And behind the vine there come to shine
Two pleasant eyes and gaze.
And now a perfume comes,
A swift Favonian gust;
And the shrinking grass where it doth pass
Bows slave-like to the dust.
In dreams I see her drift
A mist of drapery;
In her jeweled shawl divinely tall,
A Dian deity.
The moon broods high and full
O'er the broken Psyche cold,
And there she stands her dainty hands
And thin wrists warm with gold.
But lovers now are dead,
The air is stung with frosts;
And naught may you find save the homeless wind,
Dead violets' ghosts and ghosts.
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