Part 2

Knowest thou the land where bloom the lemon trees, And darkly gleam the golden oranges? A gentle wind blows down from that blue sky; Calm stands the myrtle and the laurel high. Knowest thou the land? So far and fair! Thou, whom I love, and I will wander there.

Knowest thou the house with all its rooms aglow, And shining hall and columned portico? The marble statues stand and look at me. Alas, poor child, what have they done to thee? Knowest thou the land? So far and fair. My Guardian, thou and I will wander there.

Knowest thou the mountain with its bridge of cloud? The mule plods warily: the white mists crowd. Coiled in their caves the brood of dragons sleep; The torrent hurls the rock from steep to steep. Knowest thou the land? So far and fair. Father, away! Our road is over there!

FELO DE SE

The song of a man who was dead Ere any had heard of his song, Or had seen this his ultimate song, With the lines of it written in red, And the sound of it steady and strong. When you hear it, you know I am dead.

Not because I was weary of life As pallid poets are: My star was a conquering star, My element strife. I am young, I am strong, I am brave, It is therefore I go to the grave.

Now to life and to life's desire, And to youth and the glory of youth, Farewell, for I go to acquire, By the one road left me, Truth. Though a great God slay me with fire I will shout till he answer me. Why? (One soul and a Universe, why?) And for this it is pleasant to die.

For years and years I have slumbered, And slumber was heavy and sweet, But the last few moments are numbered Like trampling feet that beat. I shall walk with the stars in their courses, And hear very soon, very soon, The voice of the forge of the Forces, And ride on a ridge of the moon, And sing a celestial tune.

TENEBRIS INTERLUCENTEM

A linnet who had lost her way Sang on a blackened bough in Hell, Till all the ghosts remembered well The trees, the wind, the golden day.

At last they knew that they had died When they heard music in that land, And someone there stole forth a hand To draw a brother to his side.

INVITATION TO A YOUNG BUT LEARNED FRIEND TO ABANDON ARCHAEOLOGY FOR THE MOMENT, AND PLAY ONCE MORE WITH HIS NEGLECTED MUSE.

In those good days when we were young and wise, You spake to music, you with the thoughtful eyes, And God looked down from heaven, pleased to hear A young man's song arise so firm and clear. Has Fancy died? The Morning Star gone cold? Why are you silent? Have we grown so old? Must I alone keep playing? Will not you, Lord of the Measures, string your lyre anew? Lover of Greece, is this the richest store You bring us,--withered leaves and dusty lore, And broken vases widowed of their wine, To brand you pedant while you stand divine? Decorous words beseem the learned lip, But Poets have the nicer scholarship.

In English glades they watch the Cyprian glow, And all the Maenad melodies they know. They hear strange voices in a London street, And track the silver gleam of rushing feet; And these are things that come not to the view Of slippered dons who read a codex through. O honeyed Poet, will you praise no more The moonlit garden and the midnight shore? Brother, have you forgotten how to sing The story of that weak and cautious king Who reigned two hundred years in Trebizond? You who would ever strive to pierce beyond Love's ecstacy, Life's vision, is it well We should not know the tales you have to tell?

BALLAD OF THE LONDONER

Evening falls on the smoky walls, And the railings drip with rain, And I will cross the old river To see my girl again.

The great and solemn-gliding tram, Love's still-mysterious car, Has many a light of gold and white, And a single dark red star.

I know a garden in a street Which no one ever knew; I know a rose beyond the Thames, Where flowers are pale and few.

THE FIRST SONNET OF BATHROLAIRE

Over the moonless land of Bathrolaire Rises at night, when revelry begins, A white unreal orb, a sun that spins, A sun that watches with a sullen stare That dance spasmodic they are dancing there, Whilst drone and cry and drone of violins Hint at the sweetness of forgotten sins, Or call the devotees of shame to prayer. And all the spaces of the midnight town Ring with appeal and sorrowful abuse. There some most lonely are: some try to crown Mad lovers with sad boughs of formal yews, And Titan women wandering up and down Lead on the pale fanatics of the muse.

THE SECOND SONNET OF BATHROLAIRE

Now the sweet Dawn on brighter fields afar Has walked among the daisies, and has breathed The glory of the mountain winds, and sheathed The stubborn sword of Night's last-shining star. In Bathrolaire when Day's old doors unbar The motley mask, fantastically wreathed, Pass through a strong portcullis brazen teethed, And enter glowing mines of cinnabar. Stupendous prisons shut them out from day, Gratings and caves and rayless catacombs, And the unrelenting rack and tourniquet Grind death in cells where jetting gaslight gloams, And iron ladders stretching far away Dive to the depths of those eternal domes.

THE MASQUE OF THE MAGI

Three Kings have come to Bethlehem With a trailing star in front of them.

MARY

What would you in this little place, You three bright kings?

KINGS

Mother, we tracked the trailing star Which brought us here from lands afar, And we would look on his dear face Round whom the Seraphs fold their wings.