heretofore. Ah, singing birds your happy music pour! Ah, poets, leave the sordid earth awhile; Flit to these ancient gods we still adore: "It may be we shall touch the happy isle!" AFTER THÉODORE DE BANVILLE. ENVOY BALLADE OF LIFE. "'Dead and gone,'—a sorry burden of the Ballad of Life." Death's Jest Book. Say, fair maids, maying In gardens green, In deep dells straying, What end hath been Two Mays between Of the flowers that shone And your own sweet queen— "They are dead and gone!" Say, grave priests, praying In dule and teen, From cells decaying What have ye seen Of the proud and mean, Of Judas and John, Of the foul and clean?— "They are dead and gone!" Say, kings, arraying Loud wars to win, Of your manslaying What gain ye glean? "They are fierce and keen, But they fall anon, On the sword that lean,— They are dead and gone!" ENVOY. Through the mad world's scene, We are drifting on, To this tune, I ween, "They are dead and gone!" Death's Jest Book. ENVOY BALLADE OF ÆSTHETIC ADJECTIVES. There be "subtle" and "sweet," that are bad ones to beat, There are "lives unlovely," and "souls astray"; There is much to be done yet with "moody" and "meet," And "ghastly," and "grimly," and "gaunt," and "grey"; We should ever be "blithesome," but never be gay, And "splendid" is suited to "summer" and "sea"; "Consummate," they say, is enjoying its day,— "Intense" is the adjective dearest to me! The Snows and the Rose they are "windy" and "fleet," And "frantic" and "faint" are Delight and Dismay; Yea, "sanguine," it seems, as the juice of the beet, Are "the hands of the King" in a general way: There be loves that quicken, and sicken, and slay; "Supreme" is the song of the Bard of the free; But of adjectives all that I name in my lay, "Intense" is the adjective dearest to me! The Matron intense—let us sit at her feet, And pelt her with lilies as long as we may; The Maiden intense—is not always discreet; But the Singer intense, in his "singing array," Will win all the world with his roundelay: While "blithe" birds carol from tree to tree, And Art unto Nature doth simper, and say,— "'Intense' is the adjective dearest to me!" ENVOY. Prince, it is surely as good as a play To mark how the poets and painters agree; But of plumage æsthetic that feathers the jay, "Intense" is the adjective dearest to me! ENVOY BALLADE OF DEAD LADIES. AFTER VILLON. Nay, tell me now in
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