Wind among the roses, blow no more!

Lonely starry faces, wonderful and white,

Yearning with a cry across the dim sweet night,

All our dreams are blown a-drift as flowers before a fan,

All our hearts are haunted in the heart of old Japan.

Haunted, haunted, haunted—we that mocked and sinned

Hear the vanished voices wailing down the wind,

Watch the ruined rose-leaves drift along the shore.

Wind among the roses, blow no more!

All along the purple creek, lit with silver foam,

Sobbing, sobbing voices, cry no more of home!

Soft beyond the cherry-trees, o'er the dim lagoon,

Dawns the crimson lantern of the large low moon.

NECROMANCY

(AFTER THE PROSE OF BAUDELAIRE)

This necromantic palace, dim and rich,

Dim as a dream, rich as a reverie,

I knew it all of old, surely I knew

This floating twilight tinged with rose and blue,

This moon-soft carven niche

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