Set in the night with far-off wizardry. Come down, come down; the night is fain of you, The garden waits your footstep on its walks. 

 Lo, the moon, Like a galleon sailing the night; And the wash of the moonlight over the red brick wall and the roses! 

 A gleam of lamplight through an open door! A footfall like the wind's upon the grass! A rustle like the wind's among the leaves!... Dim as a dream of pale peach blooms of light, Blue in the blue soft pallor of the moon, She comes between the trees as a faint tune Falls from a flute far off into the night.... So Death might come to one who knew him Love. 

A SONG FOR MARNA.

 Dame of the night of hair Like blue smoke blown! World yet undreamed-of there Lurks to be known. 

 Dame of the dizzy eyes, Lure of dim quests! World of what midnights lies Under thy breasts! 

 Dame of the quench of love, Give me to quaff! There's all the world's made of Under thy laugh. 

 Dame of the dare of gods, Let the sky lower! Time, give the world for odds,-- I choose this hour. 

SEPTEMBER WOODLANDS.

 This is not sadness in the wood; The yellowbird Flits joying through the solitude, By no thought stirred Save of his little duskier mate And rompings jolly. 

  If there's a Dryad in the wood, She is not sad. Too wise the spirits are to brood; Divinely glad, They dream with countenance sedate Not melancholy. 

NANCIBEL.

 The ghost of a wind came over the hill, While day for a moment forgot to die, And stirred the sheaves Of the millet leaves, As Nancibel went by. 

 Out of the lands of Long Ago, Into the land of By and By, Faded the gleam Of a journeying dream, As Nancibel went by. 

A VAGABOND SONG.

 There is something in the autumn that is native to my blood-- Touch of manner, hint of mood; And my heart is like a rhyme, With the yellow and the purple and the crimson keeping time. 

 The scarlet of the maples can shake 

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