Others are pure,
Others are noble, others too have vowed,
And for a vow have suffered; but she bowed
Her own soul and another's to endure.

She smote the being more to her than all,--
Her own soul and the world,--a truth to hold,
Faith with the dead; and hung a heavy pall

'Tween her and love and life. The world is old,
It hath sent here none queenlier. Of the few,
The royal few is she, martyred and true."

"VEX NOT THIS GHOST"

Upon the rack of this tough world I hear,
As when Cordelia's glories all dissever-
"Never--never--never--never--never,--"
That wild moan of the dispossessed Lear.

O world, vex not this ghost, yea, let it pass,
The Spirit of these songs. The fool hath mocked,
The fool our woe upon us hath unlocked
From where the soul holds to our lips the glass,

To see what breath of life. O fool, poor fool,
Well, we have laughed together, you and I.
O fond insulter, in the healing pool

Of your deep poignant raillery I lie.
Let us be grand again, my fool. The throne
Is gone; but see, the coronation stone!

THE MEMORY

Know you where I, my royal fool, was crowned?
A rock within the great Egean? Where
A strong flood hurrieth on Finistere?
Where at the Pole our valiant men were drowned?

Where the soft creamy wash of Indian seas
Spreads palmward? Where the sunset glides to dawn,
No night between? Where all the tides are drawn
To greet their Sun and bathe their Idol's knees?

Where was I crowned? Dear fool, upon a stone
That standeth where Earth's arches make but one,
Where all the banners of her soul were flown,

And trumpeted the legions of the sun.
The stone is left: 'tis here against the door
Of throne and kingdom. . . . Pray you, mock no more.

THE PASSING

A time will come when we again shall rail--
Not yet, not yet. The flood comes on apace,
That deep dividing river, and her face
Grows dimmer as it widens--pale, so pale.

Have we not railed and laughed these many days,
Mummers before the lights? Dear fool, your hand