THE charm of rouge on fragile cheeks, Pearl-powder, and, about the eyes, The dark and lustrous Eastern dyes; The floating odour that bespeaks A scented boudoir and the doubtful night Of alcoves curtained close against the light

Gracile and creamy white and rose, Complexioned like the flower of dawn, Her fleeting colours are as those That, from an April sky withdrawn, Fade in a fragrant mist of tears away When weeping noon leads on the altered day.

 

IMPRESSION.

TO M. C.

THE pink and black of silk and lace, Flushed in the rosy-golden glow Of lamplight on her lifted face; Powder and wig, and pink and lace,

And those pathetic eyes of hers; But all the London footlights know The little plaintive smile that stirs The shadow in those eyes of hers.

Outside, the dreary church-bell tolled, The London Sunday faded slow; Ah, what is this? what wings unfold In this miraculous rose of gold?

 

AN ANGEL OF PERUGINO.

HAVE I not seen your face before Where Perugino’s angels stand In those calm circles, and adore With singing throat and lifted hand?

So the pale hair lay crescent-wise, About the placid forehead curled, And the pale piety of eyes Was as God’s peace upon the world.

And you, a simple child serene, Wander upon your quiet way, Nor know that any eyes have seen The Umbrian halo crown the day.

 

AT FONTAINEBLEAU.

IT was a day of sun and rain, Uncertain as a child’s quick moods; And I shall never pass again So blithe a day among the woods.

The forest knew you and was glad, And laughed for very joy to know Her child was with her; then, grown sad, She wept, because her child must go.

And you would spy and you would capture The shyest flower that lit the grass: The joy I had to watch your rapture Was keen as even your rapture was.

The forest knew you and was glad, And laughed and wept for joy and woe. This was the welcome that you had Among the woods of 

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