Meek , passionless, precise, with pallid face,
Judas grew up, his mother's constant joy,
Who thanked Jehovah daily that her boy
Of boyhood's viciousness had not a trace.
Yet, in the heart of that which she thought grace
A devil lurked, more subtle to destroy
Than any other Satan doth employ
To wreak his vengeance on the human race.

In after years, the man's soul grew so dead,
That when he met Love's Self and held Love's Hand,
Nay, kissed Love's Lips, he still could Love withstand.
Too late the thirst which drove him to his doom

FOUND IN H ERCULANEUM

What eyes have worshipped thee, O passionless
Cold stone, thou darling beauty of dead men
And buried worlds! What hearts in those days when
Beauty was god have longed for thy caress,
As, 'mid voluptuous feast and wild excess,
They saw the dawn-light of the Eastern skies
Crimson that brow and kindle in those eyes,
And felt their glutted passion's emptiness.
And still thou mockest us, O cruel stone,
And still thine eyes are gazing far away,
Drawing out man's love that loves thee all in vain.

Who hath not seen my love? Her violet eyes
Like morning blooms awake, and, all aglow,
The heav'nly fruitage yet untasted lies
On the full lip which swells and smiles below.
The movements of her noiseless feet keep time
To tremulous music of a world-old song
Which all the Hours do breathe into her ear;
And many, many languish in their prime,
For hopeless love of her who hath been long
My chiefest joy through the full-seasoned year.

Be not too boist'rous, or to free to take
Those curls into thy lap, O Summer wind!

Love was wanting songs to sing
On a golden day,
When the earth was bright with Spring
And the flowers of May.

So he lay beside the brink
Of a quiet stream,
Where the cattle go to drink
And the clouds to dream.

Sunbeams lit the woods around,
Breezes fanned his cheek,
And the blossoms on the ground
Almost seemed to speak.

In the branches overhead
Robin sang his love,
And the tender things he said
Filled the skies above.

Flitting through the scented air
Where the stream was bright,

Love hath built himself a house
Underneath the snow,
Where, amid the winter's storm,
He can keep his body warm,
When the winds do blow.

It is lined with leaves that fell
Half a year ago,
And around it linger yet
Odours of spring violet,
Underneath the snow.

If you come and try to peep
Into what's below,
Laughing loud, as if in fun,
Love jumps up and makes you run,
Pelting you with snow.

What does Love do night and day?
Would you like to know?
In the dark he sits and weeps

Love has gone a-straying,
Like a cloud in May,
Down the silent wind-ways,
Past the bounds of day.
When will he return again?
When will his fire burn again?
I am broken-hearted
Since sweet Love departed.

Love has gone a-straying—
Call him back to me,
Up the silent wind-ways,
Over land and sea.
Tell him he must bring again
Joys that I can sing again;
I am broken-hearted
Since sweet Love departed.

Love has gone a-straying,
Foolish, foolish Love,
Seeking up the wind-ways
For the stars above;

The days and weeks are going, love,
The years roll on apace,
And the hand of time is showing, love,
In the care-lines on thy face;

But the tie that bound our hearts, love,
In the morning's golden haze,
Is a tie that never parts, love,
With the passing of the days.

For though Death's arm be strong, love,
Our love its light will shed,
And like a glorious song, love,
Will live when Death is dead.

( A PAINTING BY SIR EDWARD BURNE-JONES )

Sweet Psyche, hath thy quest of Love
So led thee to a sterile land,
Only to grief and fear at last?
What stranger this who bends above
Thy beauty? What unshapely hand
Hides in the glory of thy hair?
Pale wanderer, thy long sorrows past,
May find no solace in those eyes,
Though wistfully they scrutinize
Thy face, and, dimly, know it fair.

Go thou thy way bright Love to find;
And in the bliss of his embrace
Thou shalt forget Pan's dusky face.

Listen , spring is in the air;
As of old the earth is fair;
Youth is dead, and sorrow lies
With a dream across his eyes.
Softly, swiftly, lest he wake,
Kiss again for Love's dear sake.
Nay, for Love unsmiling stands,
Holds a cup within his hands
Bright and bitter to the brim.
Who are ye dare drink with him?

" O LOVE , thou art winged and swift,
Yet stay with me evermore! "
And I guarded my house with bolt and bar
Lest Love fly forth at the door.

Without, in the world, 't was cold,
While Love and I together
Laughed and sang by my red hearth-fire,
Nor knew it was winter weather.

Sweet Love would lull me to sleep,
In his tireless arm caressed;
His shadowing wings and burning eyes
Like night and stars wrought rest.

And ever the beat of Love's heart
As a chime rang at my ear;
And ever Love's bending, beautiful face