away."       Then he went back to the same still room That had held his dream in the long ago, When he buried his days in a nameless tomb, And the stars were bleak, and the nights were slow. And a passionate humor seized him there —       Seized him and held him until there grew Like life on his canvas, glowing and fair, A perilous face — and an angel's, too. Angel and maiden, and all in one, —       All but the eyes.  — They were there, but yet They seemed somehow like a soul half done. What was the matter? Did God forget? . . . But he wrought them at last with a skill so sure That her eyes were the eyes of a deathless woman, —      With a gleam of heaven to make them pure, And a glimmer of hell to make them human. God never forgets.  — And he worships her There in that same still room of his, For his wife, and his constant arbiter Of the world that was and the world that is. And he wonders yet what her love could be To punish him after that strife so grim; But the longer he lives with her eyes to see, The plainer it all comes back to him. 

  

       Two Men     

      There be two men of all mankind That I should like to know about; But search and question where I will, I cannot ever find them out. Melchizedek he praised the Lord, And gave some wine to Abraham; But who can tell what else he did Must be more learned than I am. Ucalegon he lost his house When Agamemnon came to Troy; But who can tell me who he was —       I'll pray the gods to give him joy. There be two men of all mankind That I'm forever thinking on:      They chase me everywhere I go, —       Melchizedek, Ucalegon. 

  

       Villanelle of Change     

      Since Persia fell at Marathon, The yellow years have gathered fast:      Long centuries have come and gone. And yet (they say) the place will don A phantom fury of the past, Since Persia fell at Marathon; And as of old, when Helicon Trembled and swayed with rapture vast      (Long centuries have come and gone), This ancient plain, when night comes on, Shakes to a ghostly battle-blast, Since Persia fell at Marathon. But into soundless Acheron The glory of Greek shame was cast:      Long centuries have come and gone, The suns of Hellas have all shone, The first has fallen to the last: —      Since Persia fell at 

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