If I go down to death uncomforted
By love's great conquest and its great surrender,
Bearing my soul along, unwed, unwed;
(Your darling hands' caresses swift and tender
Lacking upon my head, upon my lips
Your lips) and in my heart love unfulfilled,
And in my eyes a blind apocalypse,
Bereft of all the glory I have willed;

I shall go proudly for your dear love's sake,
Triumphant for brief memories, but tragic
Because of those large hopes that fail and break
Beneath Fate's wizard-wand of cruel magic —

Ta la lal la, — ta la lal la,
Was the song of Fatima:
To the blue-eyed charmer oft
Ganem sued in language soft;
But while he vowed eternal truth,
How she loved to tease the youth!
He said, Marry,
She cried, Tarry;
Still he knelt, and still he sighed,
Still the frolic fair replied,
Ta la lal la.

Ganem now grew pale and slim;
Sport to her was death to him;
Seeing this and warmly pressed,
Love was in her eye confessed;
Gently sighing,
All complying,
Time, she cried, is on the wing,
Take me then when next I sing

A fair, sweet face in a bonnet,
An eye-glance that like a star gleams, —
And straight sing our fancies a sonnet
That builds up a palace of dreams.

In the heart of the forest arising,
Slim, ghostly, and fair,
Ethereal offspring of moisture,
Of earth and of air;
With slender stems anchored together
Where first they uncurl,
Each tipped with its exquisite lily
Of mother-of-pearl;
'Mid the pine-needles, closely enwoven
Its roots to embale, —
The Indian-pipe of the woodland,
Thrice lovely and frail!

Is this but an earth-springing fungus —
This darling of Fate
Which out of the mouldering darkness
Such light can create?
Or is it the spirit of Beauty,

It was Love who called me, a morning in the meadow,
" Come out, sweetheart! Come out, sweetheart, the Spring is in the land.
All the world is wonderful with dappled sun and shadow,
Here I wait with happiness held close in either hand. "
O, I brake my spinning off,
Eager to be free.
Duty frowned beside the wheel,
" Do thy work! " quoth she.

It was Love who called me at noontide in the greenwood,
" Come out, sweetheart! Come out, sweetheart, and in the silence rest!
Take thine ease beneath the leaves as softly as a queen should,

Sing not, O blessed angels!
To those who truly mourn,
But come with gifts of healing,
For heart-strings freshly torn.
Ah! human hearts are tender,
And wounds of love are deep:
Sing not, O blessed angels!
But “weep with those who weep.”

Come not, O spirit-teachers!
With wisdom from above,
But come with soft, low whispers
Of sympathy and love.
Truths seem uncertain shadows
Beneath the clouds of care;
Come, then, in friendly silence,
And strengthen them to bear.

What will ye bring, O angels,

She stood beneath the moonlight pale,
With calm, uplifted eye,
While all her being, weak and frail,
Thrilled with her purpose high;
For she, the long affianced bride,
Must seal the fount of tears,
And break, with woman's lofty pride,
The plighted faith of years.

Ay! she had loved as in a dream,
And woke, at length, to find
How coldly on her spirit gleamed
The dazzling light of mind.

Remember me as one who loved awhile
Life, — and the splendid merriment I had;
Life, — and its throngs of people, gay and sad,
But all so quick to answer smile with smile;
Life, — that with changeful humours did beguile
My changeful moods, and ever found me glad
To fare upon adventures, wise or mad, —
A runner laughing down the fleeting mile.

Or as a child who loved the shining toy
The gods placed in its hands, remember me;
And if I cried at dusk to touch a star,
Forgive! For I who was a-flame with joy

" I would not care for fame,
If, as the years went by,
That light might burn the same
That now flames in thine eye.
From all the glory for which great ones care
Thou couldst entice me with a single hair.

" I would not care for truth,
If thou wouldst but be true;
One certainty, — thy youth,
Thy beauty ever new, —
To make me this the only truth declare,
Thou couldst entice me with a single hair.

" I would not care for good,
If I thy smile might see.
No man hath understood
How mighty love can be,

There once was a garden with lofty walls,
With trees and flowers and waters fair.
Bright insects hummed; and the soft love-calls
Of rare-hued birds on the drowsy air.

At morning and evening were heard. And here
It always was summer. There seemed to be
A balm in the air, and a sky as clear
As bends o'er the lakes of Italy.

It was in an enchanted land; for not
On the earth has a garden like this e'er been:
The dreamer alone has seen the spot,
Or ever an entrance to such might win.

Within this garden a woman dwelt,