WHE

LOVE'S QUEST

(FOR A MURAL PAINTING)

HENAS the watches of the night had grown

To that deep loneliness where dreams begin, I saw how Love, with visage worn and thin,With wings close-bound, went through a town

alone.

Death-pale he showed, and inly seemed to moan With sore desire some dolorous place to win; Sharp brambles passed had streaked his dazzling

skin,——

His bright feet eke were gashed with many a stone. And, as he went, I, sad for piteousness,

Might see how men from door and gate would

move

To stay his steps; or womankind would press,
With wistful eyes, to balconies above,

And bid him enter in. But Love not less,

Mournful, kept on his way. Ah! hapless Love.

THE SICK MAN AND THE BIRDS

SPRI

ÆGROTUS.

PRING,-art thou come, O Spring!
I am too sick for words;

How hast thou heart to sing,

O Spring, with all thy birds?

MERULA.

I sing for joy to see again
The merry leaves along the lane,
The little bud grown ripe;

And look, my love upon the bough!
Hark, how she calleth to me now,-
"Pipe! pipe!"

ÆGROTUS.

Ah! weary is the sun:

Love is an idle thing;

But, Bird, thou restless one,
What ails thee, wandering?

HIRUNDO.

By shore and sea I come and go
To seek I know not what; and lo!
On no man's eaves I sit,

But voices bid me rise once more,
To flit again by sea and shore,-
Flit! flit!

ÆGROTUS.

This is Earth's bitter cup :-
Only to seek, not know.
But Thou, that strivest up,
Why dost thou carol so?

ALAUDA.

A secret Spirit gifteth me
With song, and wing that lifteth me,→
A Spirit for whose sake,
Striving amain to reach the sky,
Still to the old dark earth I cry,—
"Wake! wake!

ÆGROTUS.

My hope hath lost its wing.

Thou, that to Night dost call, How hast thou heart to sing Thy tears made musical?

PHILOMELA.

Alas for me! a dry desire
Is all my song,—a waste of fire
That will not fade nor fail;

To me, dim shapes of ancient crime Moan through the windy ways of time, "Wail! wail!"

ÆGROTUS.

This is the sick man's song,—
Mournful, in sooth, and fit;
Unrest that cries "How long!".
And the Night answers it.

A FLOWER SONG OF ANGIOLA

OWN where the garden grows,

DOWN

Gay as a banner,

Spake to her mate the Rose

After this manner :—
"We are the first of flowers,
Plain-land or hilly,

All reds and whites are ours,
Are they not, Lily?”

Then to the flowers I spake,

"Watch ye my Lady

Gone to the leafy brake,

Silent and shady;

When I am near to her,

Lily, she knows ;
How I am dear to her,

Look to it, Rose."

Straightway the Blue-bell stooped,

Paler for pride,

Down where the Violet drooped,

Shy, at her side :-
:-