nary; when gone
Every kernel of provision,
The last cattle he will pawn.

From the land unto the cellar,
Clean the peasant's hut he keeps,
With a coarse and clumsy besom
Every tiny crumb he sweeps.

On the village highway also
Works and wins he over all,
From the threshing floor to stable--
From the sheepfold to the stall.

His approaching, sorrow follows--
On his coming, follows need,
On his greeting, follows sickness,
On his hand-shake Death succeeds!

So he seeks in all directions,
East and West and South and North--
And in empty field embraces
Thankfully his friend the Frost!

FOFANOW.

FADED THE FOOTSTEP OF SPRING FROM OUR GARDEN

Faded the footstep of Spring from our garden,
Sighing the Autumn wind vanishing goes,
Behold now, how close to us dreams are approaching--
Love, it is time for repose!

List, how the leafage in raindrops all tearful
Trembles and wails for a sorry defeat,--
All that was ours, that we once proudly boasted,
All, was a glittering cheat.

Dark as a funeral pall hanging over,
Fluttering clouds in their mockery close;
Sighing within us is silenced our singing--
Love, it is time for repose.

Deceitful from heaven's fair emerald rainbow,
Soft borrowed glamour of moonbeams doth woo;
Since even you to my faith were disloyal,
Love, my false Springtime were you!

Soon will the sunbeams last radiant shining
Trackless be hurled where the Autumn wind blows,
Slumber enmeshes my soul and the darkness--
Love, it is time for repose!

FOFANOW.

THE BEGGAR

There stood a beggar asking alms
By the cathedral gate,
His face bore torture marks of life--
Pale, tired, blind--like fate.

Thin, tired, pale and blind he begged
A crust of bread alone,
And some one pausing, placed within
His outstretched hand--a stone.

And even so I asked your love,
I brought my dreams, my life--the while
Unto my passion you replied
Only with your cold smile!

FOFANOW.

WITH ROSES

Darling, accept my bunch of perfumed roses;--
Because in royal beauty and in freshness sweet
They dared to rival you,--I cut them down and bound
The criminals and brought them to your feet.

_From the Georgian of Prince Tschawtschawadze_.

THE STARS

With joy in your heart and a smile on your lips
You admired the soft Southern night,
And do you know when your beautiful eyes
Were remarked, all the stars at the sight
Were put out