57

THE IRON CROSS 58

THE WANDERER 60

THE END OF SUMMER 62

THE LUST OF THE WORLD 63

CHANT BEFORE BATTLE 64

NEARING CHRISTMAS 65

A BELGIAN CHRISTMAS 67

THE FESTIVAL OF THE AISNE 69

THE CRY OF EARTH 70

CHILD AND FATHER 71

THE RISING OF THE MOON 72

WHERE THE BATTLE PASSED 73

THE IRON AGE 74

THE BATTLE 75

ON RE-READING CERTAIN GERMAN POETS 76

ON OPENING AN OLD SCHOOL VOLUME OF HORACE 77

LAUS DEO 78

THE NEW YORK SKYSCRAPER 79

ROBERT BROWNING 80

RILEY 81

DON QUIXOTE 82

THE WOMAN 83

THE SONG OF SONGS 84

OGLETHORPE 90

A POET'S EPITAPH 96

_THE CUP OF COMUS_

PROEM

The Nights of song and story,
With breath of frost and rain,
Whose locks are wild and hoary,
Whose fingers tap the pane
With leaves, are come again.

The Nights of old October,
That hug the hearth and tell,
To child and grandsire sober,
Tales of what long befell
Of witch and warlock spell.

Nights, that, like gnome and faery,
Go, lost in mist and moon.
And speak in legendary
Thoughts or a mystic rune,
Much like the owlet's croon.

Or whirling on like witches,
Amid the brush and broom,
Call from the Earth its riches,
Of leaves and wild perfume,
And strew them through the gloom.

Till death, in all his starkness,
Assumes a form of fear,
And somewhere in the darkness
Seems slowly drawing near
In raiment torn and sere.

And with him comes November,
Who drips outside the door,
And wails what men remember
Of things believed no more,
Of superstitious lore.

Old tales of elf and daemon,
Of Kobold and of Troll,
And of the goblin woman