eart thy curls' beloved gold!

MID-MAY

Hand clamped to desk,
And eyes on task undone,
I see a meadow pool,
With shaken willows silvering.
O, gods that trouble me,
Wherefore, wherefore?--
Pan is at the door.

An arabesque
Of sifted sun
And forest star-grass, cool
With shadows tunnelling:
Witch-work that tauntingly
Webs my bare floor:
Ah, Pan is at the door.

I'm civilized,
And in my veins
The mountain brook is still
As water in a jar;
But oh, the heart hill-born,
It paineth sore,
For Pan is at the door.

Ye sacrificed
Of earth, what rains
Have wept their will
And drowned your rebel star,
That ye should sit forlorn,
Telling Greed's score,
When Pan is at the door?

THE LOSS

When thou shalt search thy glass nor find the flower
That there so long smiled gay, unwithering,
And from sad vantage of a forlorn hour
That fore nor aft unmasks one hint of Spring,
Thou mourn'st the barrenness of beauty spent
With no reserved treasure for the day
When all that youth and sunny fortune lent
No more should light adoring eyes to thee,
And fear'st thyself a-cold, by the last storm
Beat to thine inn, a still, uncarping guest,
Thy once bright eye a pilot to the worm
Making his dungeon way to his new feast,
Drop not a tear then for thy beauty fled,
But for the wounds it healed not bow thy head.

CALLED

I rise, I pass;
The feast is on, bright is the board,
Undrained the comrade glass;
Love's sheltering eyes are deep and nigh;
Fame waits with shining word;
But sweeter, goldening the sphere,
A voice falls from another sky;
The wasting world I do not hear,
And no god laughs as I pass by,
A wanderer.

Unpausing lowers
The gleam of her from other airs,
And Being's guarded doors
Are open wide for journey free
Where wait my chosen stars;
And o'er me, O what lustres break
Of that desire, Reality,
That burns a thousand suns to make
One nightingale to sing for me,
A soul awake!

Far, far I sped
Down moonless lanes from doubt to doubt;
With hasting, hungry tread
Up slopes of frost unpitying
Where the last star went out;
There fell I in unlifting dark,
And lying while an aeon'