Short Poems

First go-between in fallen man's defence,
To shield, or share his blame.
Christ-like, to lend the robe of innocence
Wherewith to hide his shame.

New blossoms from the selfsame earth,
Beneath the selfsame skies;
New hope with dawn's perennial birth,
The selfsame heaven supplies.

Sing me no more, sweet warbler, for the dart
Of joy is keener than the flash of pain:
Sing me no more, for the re-echoed strain
Together with the silence breaks my heart.

The Toltecs have been taken, alas, the book of their souls has come to an end, alas, everything of the Toltecs has reached its conclusion, no longer do I care to live here.
Who will take me? Who will go with me? I am ready to be taken, alas. All that was fresh, the perfume, my flowers, my songs, have gone along with them.

So let me in thy heaven of thought appear,
As doth a twilight star —
The harbinger of tenderest hopes anear,
And memories afar.

O LEAF, against the twilight seen,
Move not; for at thy side
Gleams, trembling lest thou intervene,
My hope, my star, my guide.

No bloom forgotten! but upon each face
The dews baptismal, and the selfsame sign
Of Night's communion, that the fervid gaze
Of Paschal Morning changes into wine.

Within the stone Sahara of the Town
A green oasis lies the open Square:
Hark to the noisy caravans of brown,
Intrepid Sparrows, — Arabs of the air!

Into the slumber of the Day there came
The vision of a spirit winged with flame,
And down the fragrant air one butterfly —
Her golden dream — sailed indolently by.

Throughout the long, enchanted summer hours,
In treasuries of honey-wealth untold,
Here in their bright metropolis of flowers
The banker bees are busy with their gold.