Part 6 (1/2)

Weary I grew and slept through the noonday hour; Winds caught my fate and strewed it over the air.

XIII

_The Ribbon_

Ah, dearest, dearest, not alone I face the day's white monotone.

The fair, bright ribbon of the hours-- A mountain brook bestead through flowers-- Runs, a dear line, from you to you.

There is no smallest deed I do Through which the ribbon does not run, A silver string to pearls of sun.

So glad I watch the moments fly Across the high-hung summer sky, Till in a radiant flame they burn, To mark the hour of your return.

XIV

_The Aster_

The little vagrant gypsy flower Has blossomed forth again-- Your face against the autumn sky, Your face against the rain.

The fevered youth of summer days Has pa.s.sed away in tears.

The aged winter totters down The pathway of the years.

Yet, nodding, luring, laughing o'er The tired world's pain and scars, Joyous I find between my hands Your face--in aster stars.

XV

_Heart and Hand_

Singing, he smote his heart-- The woman smiled, And Love leaped, flaming, Into being--wild.

Singing, he smote his hands-- The woman sighed, And Love grew weary, Turned his face, and died.

XVI

_The Golden Fruit_

I lacked not Love, I lacked not lovely Love, But, ah, the apples of Hesperides!

The golden apples and the emerald trees, The flower-sweet maidens, dancing in the breeze-- Holds Love a blossom with such fruits as these?

I gave up Love, I gave up lovely Love, And sought the island of enchanted skies, With little rainbow rifts of seraphs' eyes, Round which the flaming sword forever plies Against the darkened world of rue and sighs.