.
It's forth I must, and forth to-day;
And I have no path to choose.
The highway hill, it is my way still.--
Give me my golden shoes.

_God gave them me on that first day
I knew that I was young.
And I looked far forth, from west to north;
And I heard the Songs unsung._

This cloak is worn too threadbare thin,
But ah, how weatherwise!
This girdle serves to bind it in;
What heed of wondering eyes?--
And yet beside, I wear one pride
--Too bright, think you, to use?--
That I must wear, and still keep fair.--
Give here my golden shoes.

_God gave them me, on that first day
I heard the Stars all chime.
And I looked forth far, from road to star;
And I knew it was far to climb._

They would buy me house and hearth, no doubt,
And the mirth to spend and share;
Could I sell that gift, and go without,
Or wear--what neighbors wear.
But take my staff, my purse, my scrip;
For I have one thing to choose.
For you,--Godspeed! May you soothe your need.
For me, my golden shoes!

_He gave them me, that far, first day
When I heard all Songs unsung.
And I looked far forth, from west to north.
God saw that I was young!_

NOON AT PAESTUM

Lord of the Sea, we sun-filled creatures raise
Our hands among the clamorous weeds,--we too.
Lord of the Sun, and of the upper blue,
Of all To-morrow, and all yesterdays,
Here, where the thousand broken names and ways
Of worship are but shards we wandered through,
There is no gift to offer, or undo;
There is no prayer left in us, only praise.

Only to glory in this glory here,
Through the dead smoke of myriad sacrifice;--
To look through these blue spaces, blind and clear
Even as the seaward gaze of Homer's eyes;
And from uplifted heart, and cup, to pour
Wine to the Unknown God.--We ask no more.

VESTAL FLAME

Light, light,--the last:
Till the night be done,
Keep the watch for stars and sun, and eyelids over-cast.

Once there seemed a sky,
Brooding over men.
Now no stars have come again, since their bright good-bye!

Once my dreams were wise.
Now I nothing know;
Fasting and the dark have so put out my heart's eyes.

But thy golden breath
Burns against my cheek.
I can feel and love, and seek all the rune it saith.

Do not thou be spent,
Holy thing of fire,--
Only hope of heart's desire dulled with wonderment!

While there bide these two
Hands to bar the wind;
Though such fingers chill and thinned, shed no roses