Holding their careless words unto the last.

The rains of summer, and the creeping vine

That season after season clings in trust,

And shivered poppies red as Roman wine,—

These things at last will haunt its crumbled dust—

Not dreams of empires shattered where they lie,

But children's laughter, birds, and bits of sky.

[6]

[6]

NAPOLEON IN HADES

They stirred uneasily, drew close their capes,

And whispered each to each in awed surprise,

Seeing this figure brood along the shapes,

World tragedies thick-crowding through his eyes.

On either side the ghostly groups drew back

In huddled knots, yielding him way and room,

Their foolish mouths agape and fallen slack,

Their bloodless fingers pointing through the gloom.

Still lonely and magnificent in guilt,

Splendid in scorn, rapt in a cloudy dream,

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