and the flame. There she was always coming pretty soon To fool him back, with penitent scared eyes That had in them the laughter of the moon For baffled lovers, and to make him think —      Before she gave him time enough to wink —      Sin's kisses were the keys to Paradise. 

  

       For Some Poems by Matthew Arnold     

      Sweeping the chords of Hellas with firm hand, He wakes lost echoes from song's classic shore, And brings their crystal cadence back once more To touch the clouds and sorrows of a land      Where God's truth, cramped and fettered with a band Of iron creeds, he cheers with golden lore Of heroes and the men that long before Wrought the romance of ages yet unscanned. Still does a cry through sad Valhalla go For Balder, pierced with Lok's unhappy spray —      For Balder, all but spared by Frea's charms; And still does art's imperial vista show, On the hushed sands of Oxus, far away, Young Sohrab dying in his father's arms. 

  

       Amaryllis     

      Once, when I wandered in the woods alone,      An old man tottered up to me and said,      "Come, friend, and see the grave that I have made For Amaryllis."  There was in the tone Of his complaint such quaver and such moan That I took pity on him and obeyed, And long stood looking where his hands had laid An ancient woman, shrunk to skin and bone. Far out beyond the forest I could hear The calling of loud progress, and the bold Incessant scream of commerce ringing clear; But though the trumpets of the world were glad, It made me lonely and it made me sad To think that Amaryllis had grown old. 

  

       Kosmos     

      Ah, — shuddering men that falter and shrink so To look on death, — what were the days we live, Where life is half a struggle to forgive, But for the love that finds us when we go? Is God a jester? Does he laugh and throw Poor branded wretches here to sweat and strive For some vague end that never shall arrive? And is He not yet weary of the show? Think of it, all ye millions that have planned, And only planned, the largess of hard youth! Think of it, all ye builders on the sand, Whose works are down! —  Is love so small, forsooth? Be brave! To-morrow you 

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