Helen of Troy and Other Poems Part 3

But always, folded out of sight, The wings were growing strong That were to bear him off in flight Erelong, erelong.

The Shrine

There is no lord within my heart, Left silent as an empty shrine Where rose and myrtle intertwine, Within a place apart.

No G.o.d is there of carven stone To watch with still approving eyes My thoughts like steady incense rise; I dream and weep alone.

But if I keep my altar fair, Some morning I shall lift my head From roses deftly garlanded To find the G.o.d is there.

The Blind

The birds are all a-building, They say the world's a-flower, And still I linger lonely Within a barren bower.

I weave a web of fancies Of tears and darkness spun.

How shall I sing of sunlight Who never saw the sun?

I hear the pipes a-blowing, But yet I may not dance, I know that Love is pa.s.sing, I cannot catch his glance.

And if his voice should call me And I with groping dim Should reach his place of calling And stretch my arms to him,

The wind would blow between my hands For Joy that I shall miss, The rain would fall upon my mouth That his will never kiss.

Love Me

Brown-thrush singing all day long In the leaves above me, Take my love this little song, "Love me, love me, love me!"

When he harkens what you say, Bid him, lest he miss me, Leave his work or leave his play, And kiss me, kiss me, kiss me!

The Song for Colin

I sang a song at dusking time Beneath the evening star, And Terence left his latest rhyme To answer from afar.

Pierrot laid down his lute to weep, And sighed, "She sings for me,"

But Colin slept a careless sleep Beneath an apple tree.

Four Winds

"Four winds blowing thro' the sky, You have seen poor maidens die, Tell me then what I shall do That my lover may be true."

Said the wind from out the south, "Lay no kiss upon his mouth,"

And the wind from out the west, "Wound the heart within his breast,"

And the wind from out the east, "Send him empty from the feast,"

And the wind from out the north, "In the tempest thrust him forth, When thou art more cruel than he, Then will Love be kind to thee."

Roundel

If he could know my songs are all for him, At silver dawn or in the evening glow, Would he not smile and think it but a whim, If he could know?

Or would his heart rejoice and overflow, As happy brooks that break their icy rim When April's horns along the hillsides blow?

I may not speak till Eros' torch is dim, The G.o.d is bitter and will have it so; And yet to-night our fate would seem less grim If he could know.

Dew

I dream that he is mine, I dream that he is true, And all his words I keep As rose-leaves hold the dew.

O little thirsty rose, O little heart beware, Lest you should hope to hold A hundred roses' share.

A Maiden

Oh if I were the velvet rose Upon the red rose vine, I'd climb to touch his window And make his cas.e.m.e.nt fine.

And if I were the little bird That twitters on the tree, All day I'd sing my love for him Till he should harken me.

But since I am a maiden I go with downcast eyes, And he will never hear the songs That he has turned to sighs.

And since I am a maiden My love will never know That I could kiss him with a mouth More red than roses blow.