Crystalled the being won from waiting grove

Into a human likeness. There he stood,

The vine-browed shape of Nature's mortal mood.

"Now have I found thee, Vision I have sought

These years, unknowing; surely thou art fair

And inly wise, and on thy tasselled hair

Glows Heaven's own light. Passion and fame are naught

To thy clear eyes, O Prince of many lands,—

Grant me thy joy," I cried, and stretched my hands.

No answer but the flourish of the breeze

Through the black pines. Then, slowly, as the wind

[Pg 4]

Parts the dense cloud-forms, leaving naught behind

But shapeless vapor, through the budding trees

Drifted some force unseen, and from my sight

Faded my god into the morning light.

Again alone. With wistful, straining eyes

I waited, and the sunshine flecked the bank

Happy with arbutus and violets where I sank

Hearing, near by, a host of melodies,

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