e by some leaf-hidden bird,

Or some shy faun who listens in the reeds,
If haply there be tunes to suit his needs.

RENAISSANCE

This glittering sense of bright and bladed grass,
Of hedges topped with blossom, white like foam,
And moons that know a purple way to pass,--
This beauty that the mind has taken home--
Goes never wholly from us at the last,
But stays beyond each summer's slow decay,
Storing our thought with summers that are past:
Hedges and moons, white in their ancient way.

So, in some subtle instant, for their sake,
The winter world turns summer earth and sky:
Blossom and bird and musics in their wake ...
And one bright moment, ere it hurries by,
Throngs all the mind with colour, light and mirth,
Like summertimes returning through the earth.

AN OLD LOVER

Whenever he would talk to us of ships,
Old schooners lost, or tall ships under weigh,
The god of speech was neighbour to his lips,
A lover's grace on words he loved to say.
He called them by their names, and you could see
Spars in the sun, keels, and their curling foam;
And all his mind was like a morning quay
Of ships gone out, and ships come gladly home.

He filled the bay with sails we had not seen:
The _Marguerita L._, "a maid for shape,"
The slender _Kay_, the worthy _Island Queen_,--
That was his own, he lost her off the Cape,
"She was a ship"--and then he looked away,
And talked to us no more of ships that day.

ONE DAY IN SUMMER

This singing Summertime has never done
With afternoons all gold and dust and fire,
And windy trees blown silver in the sun,
The lights of earth, her musics and desire;--
But day by day, and hour by lighted hour,
Something beyond the summer earth and sky,
Burns through this passion of a world in flower,--
Some ghostly sense of lovers thronging by.

And I have thought, upon this windy hill,
Where bends and sways the long, dream-troubled grass,
That I may know the heart-beats, tender still,
Of gone, forgotten lovers where they pass,--
Their love, too long for one brief life to hold,
Beating and burning through this dust and gold.

VINES

No hint was told to these untutored seed:
Along the mould wherein their roots are curled,
No whisper runs of station, caste or creed,
To guide their te