will not turn again; And who are we, who know that last intent, To plague to-morrow with a testament! IN EXITUM CUIUSDAM On a certain one's departure   "Time's bitter flood"! Oh, that's all very well, But where's the old friend hasn't fallen off, Or slacked his hand-grip when you first gripped fame? I know your circle and can fairly tell What you have kept and what you've left behind: I know my circle and know very well How many faces I'd have out of mind. APPARUIT Golden rose the house, in the portal I saw thee, a marvel, carven in subtle stuff, a portent. Life died down in the lamp and flickered, caught at the wonder. Crimson, frosty with dew, the roses bend where thou afar moving in the glamorous sun drinkst in life of earth, of the air, the tissue golden about thee. Green the ways, the breath of the fields is thine there, open lies the land, yet the steely going darkly hast thou dared and the dreaded æther parted before thee. Swift at courage thou in the shell of gold, casting a-loose the cloak of the body, camest straight, then shone thine oriel and the stunned light faded about thee. Half the graven shoulder, the throat aflash with strands of light inwoven about it, loveliest of all things, frail alabaster, ah me! swift in departing, Clothed in goldish weft, delicately perfect, gone as wind! The cloth of the magical hands! Thou a slight thing, thou in access of cunning dar'dst to assume this? THE TOMB AT AKR ÇAAR   "I am thy soul, Nikoptis. I have watched These five millennia, and thy dead eyes Moved not, nor ever answer my desire, And thy light limbs, wherethrough I leapt aflame, Burn not with me nor any saffron thing. See, the light grass sprang up to pillow thee, And kissed thee with a myriad grassy tongues; But not thou me. I have read out the gold upon the wall, And wearied out my thought upon the signs. And there is no new thing in all this place. I have been kind. See, I have left the jars sealed, Lest thou shouldst wake and whimper for thy wine. And all thy robes I have kept smooth on thee. O thou unmindful! How should I forget! —Even the river many days ago, The river, thou wast over young. And three souls came upon Thee—  And I came. And I flowed in upon thee, beat them off; I have been intimate with thee, known thy ways. Have I not touched thy palms and finger-tips, Flowed in, and through thee and about thy heels? How 'came I in'? Was I not thee and Thee? And no sun comes to rest me in this place, And I am torn against the jagged dark, And no light beats upon me, and you say No word, day after day. Oh! I could get me out, despite the marks And all their crafty work upon the door, Out through the glass-green fields.... * * * * * Yet it is quiet here: I do not go."    PORTRAIT D'UNE FEMME Your mind and 

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