Classic Poem

LIV

I see the golden hunter go,
With his hound star close at heel,
Through purple fallows above the hill,
When the large autumn night is still
And the tide of the world is low.

And while to their unwearied quest
The sister Pleiads pass,
The seventh loveliest and lost
Desire of all the orient host
Is here upon my breast.

LXVI

What is it to remember?
How white the moonlight poured into the room,
That summer long ago!
How still it was
In that great solemn midnight of the North,
A century ago!

And how I wakened trembling
At soft love-whispers warm against my cheek,
And laughed it was no dream?
Then far away,
The troubled, refluent murmur of the sea,
A sigh within a dream!