she laughed with joy new-born. "Is this life?" she said. 

 There was labour of the day, Dust upon her feet, Scorching of the shadeless way, Clamour of the street; 

 All a human want and pain, Laughter fraught with tears, Toil, when toil we know is vain, Hope, when hopes are fears; 

 Till this creature of the sea At the last became Human, in her misery, Joy, and pride, and shame. 

 With a word he left her then "Woman that you are, Mystery attracts us men Draws us from afar. 

 "Sea-nymph as you were, a thing Intangible, unknown, Like the light the sunbeams fling, Where the spray is blown, 

 "Sea-nymph have you ceased to be, Forfeited the whole Of that moonlight poetry, Cherished by man's soul; 

 "Still we seek the dim Ideal As the moth the star, How for women can we feel That our seekings bar?" 

 Where the water meets the sands, All alone sat she, With her head between her hands, Facing from the sea; 

 From her forehead pushed her hair Drooping wearily, Shivered by the water there: "Oh, soul's a curse," said she. 

 

 

 CHRYSANTHEMUMS 

 Oh, what a dainty negligence you show Outspreading all your petals' coquetry, As careless of restraint as poetry, Although, like poetry, you surely know That by the laws of beauty you must grow. 

 There is a pure and virgin fantasy In your curled petals, white as driven snow, And wayward as the unbound locks that blow Around a maiden's head, when, mad with glee, With outstretched arms she dances by the sea. 

 Yet in your glad abandon still you show The wildest beauty sorrow-touched must be, To give it worth; your leaves curve tenderly In subtle arches; so the heart may know Within the dancing maid the roots of woe. 

 

 

 A COURTLY MADRIGAL 

 Prev. P 23/33 next