breath of plant, and flower, and grain.  (I never knew Ghosts loved such things; Perchance it brought back early springs Before they thought of death.)

p. 62‘The mothers’ milk for living babes; the earth for living hosts; The clean flame for the un-souled dead.’ (Oh, strange the words of Ghosts.)  ‘If we had owned this little spot In life, we need not lie and rot Here in a pauper’s bed.’

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p. 63THE MUSE AND THE POET

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The Muse said, Let us sing a little song Wherein no hint of wrong, No echo of the great world need, or pain, Shall mar the strain. Lock fast the swinging portal of thy heart; Keep sympathy apart. Sing of the sunset, of the dawn, the sea; Of any thing or nothing, so there be No purpose to thy art. Yea, let us make, art for Art’s sake. And sing no more unto the hearts of men, But for the critic’s pen. With songs that are but words, sweet sounding words, Like joyous jargon of the birds. Tune now thy lyre, O Poet, and sing on. Sing of

p. 64THE DAWN

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The Virgin Night, all languorous with dreams Of her belovèd Darkness, rose in fear, Feeling the presence of another near. Outside her curtained casement shone the gleams Of burning orbs; and modestly she hid Her brow and bosom with her dusky hair. When lo! the bold intruder lurking there Leaped through the fragile lattice, all unbid, And half unveiled her. Then the swooning Night Fell pale and dead, while yet her soul was white Before that lawless Ravisher, the Light.

The Muse said, Poet, nay; thou host not caught My meaning. For there lurks a thought Back of thy song. In art, all thought is wrong. Re-string thy lyre; and let the echoes bound To nothing but sweet sound. Strike now the chords And sing of

WORDS

One day sweet Ladye Language gave to me A little golden key. p. 65I sat me down beside her jewel box And turned its locks. And oh, the wealth that lay there in my sight. Great solitaires of words, so bright, so bright; Words that no use can commonize; like God, And Truth, and Love; and words of sapphire blue; And amber words; with sunshine dripping through; And words of that strange hue A pearl reveals upon a wanton’s hand.

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