in that hour
From the east a golden flower,
Great and shining flower of flame . . .
Then she hastened on her way
Singing over plain and hill--
While I slept and dreamed of you
Dreams that never can come true . .
Morning at the gates of Day,
Gathered Dawn, the daffodil!

Beauty

I saw the face of Beauty--a pale rose
In the gold dusk of her abundant hair . . .
A silken web of dreams and joys--a snare . .
A net of pleasures in a world of woes,
A bright temptation for gay youth that goes
Laughing upon his way without a care!
A shield of light for conquering Love to bear
Stronger than all the swords of all his foes.

O face of Beauty--O white dawn enshrined
In sunrise veils of splendid hair--O star!
Shine on those weary men who sadly wise
But guess thy glory faintly from afar--
Missing the marvel of thy smile--and blind
To the imperial passion in thine eyes!

The Vision

I come from lonely downs and silent woods,
With winter in my heart, a withered world,
A heavy weight of dark and sorrowful things,
And all my dreams spread out their rainbow wings,
And turn again to those bright solitudes
Where Beauty met me in a thousand moods,
And all her shining banners were unfurled . . .
And where I snatched from the sweet hands of Spring
A crystal cup and drank a mystic wine,
And walked alone a secret perfumed way,
And saw the glittering Angels at their play.
And heard the golden birds of Heaven sing,
And woke . . . to find white lilies clustering
And all the emerald wood an empty shrine,
Fragrant with myrrh and frankincense and spice,
And echoing yet the flutes of Paradise . . .

The Dance

Do you remember that day I danced in the woods,
Under the dancing leaves?
Do you remember the delicate blue of the sky
And the gold-dust in the air?
And the tawny harvest fields, and the heavy sheaves?
Summer was surely in one of her bravest moods . . .
And oh, the rare
Swift joy that lifted life to an ecstasy,
That shining day I danced for you, dear, in the woods!

The purple twilight came, and the amber moon . . .
And the fairies danced with me . . .
And the shy fauns crept from the tangled thicket near,
And the startled dryads bent,
White and starry-eyed, each from her secret tree,
To watch that mystical dance, to share that heavenly swoon
That mad, bright banishment. . . .
For we were free in the perfect country, dear,
When purple twilight came and the amber mo