BLUE ROSES OF ACADEMUS 

 So late and long the shadows lie Under the quadrangle wall: From such a narrow strip of sky So scant an hour the sunbeams fall, They hardly come to touch at all This cool, sequestered corner where, Beside the chapel belfry tall, I cultivate my small parterre. 

Under the quadrangle wall:

So scant an hour the sunbeams fall,

They hardly come to touch at all

 Poor, sickly blooms of Academe, Recluses of the college close, Whose nun-like pallor would beseem The violet better than the rose: There's not a bud among you blows With scent or hue to lure the bee: Only the thorn that on you grows— Only the thorn grows hardily. 

Recluses of the college close,

The violet better than the rose:

There's not a bud among you blows

Only the thorn that on you grows—

 Pale cloisterers, have you lost so soon The way to blush? Do you forget How once, beneath the enamored moon, You climbed against the parapet, To touch the breast of Juliet Warm with a kiss, wet with a tear, In gardens of the Capulet, Far south, my flowers, not here—not here? 

The way to blush? Do you forget

You climbed against the parapet,

To touch the breast of Juliet

In gardens of the Capulet,

 

 

   THE WINDS OF DAWN 

 Whither do ye blow? For now the moon is low. Whence is it that ye come, And where is it ye go? All night the air was still, The crickets' song was shrill; But now there runs a hum And rustling through the trees. A breath of coolness wakes, As on Canadian lakes, And on Atlantic seas, And each high Alpine lawn Begin the winds of dawn. 

 

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