nch to branch,
From thorn to thorn, in diamond rain,
Who caught the cup of crystal pine
And hung so fair the shining chain?

'Tis Death, the spider, in his net
Who lures the dancers as they glide
In cloth of gold, in gown of green,
My lord and lady side by side.

THE NAMELESS ONE

Last night a hand pushed on the door
And tirled at the pin.
I turned my face unto the wall,
And could not cry, "Come in!"
I dared not cry "Come in!"

Last night a voice wailed round the house
And called my name upon,
And bitter, bitter did it mourn:
"Where is my mother gone?
Where is my mother gone?"

From saintly arms I slipped and flew
Adown the moon-lit skies,
I weary of the paths of Heav'n
And flowers of Paradise--
Sweet scents of Paradise!

"For little children prattle there,
And whisper all the day
Of lovely mothers on the earth,
Where once they used to play,
Who used with them to play.

"They linger laughing by the door,
And wait the threshold on;
I have no memory so fair,
Where is my mother gone?
Where is my mother gone?"

Thrice pushed the hand upon the door
And tirled at the pin.
I turned my face unto the wall,
And could not cry, "Come in!"
I dared not cry, "Come in!"

WHEN I SHALL RISE

When I shall rise, and full of many fears,
Set forth upon my last long journey lone,
And leave behind the circling earth to go
Amongst the countless stars to seek God's throne.

When in the vapourish blue, I wander, lost,
Let some fair paradise reward my eyes--
Hill after hill, and green and sunny vale,
As I have known beneath the Irish skies.

So on the far horizon I shall see
No alien land but this I hold so dear--
Killiney's silver sands, and Wicklow hills,
Dawn on my frightened eyes as I draw near.

And if it be no evil prayer to breathe,
Oh, let no stranger saint or seraphim
Wait there to lead up to the judgment seat,
My timid soul with weeping eyes and dim.

But let them come, those dear and lovely ghosts,
In all their human guise and lustihood,
To stand upon that shore and call me home,
Waving their joyful hands as once they stood--
As once they stood!

ARTHUR SYMONS

TANAGRA

To Cavalieri dancing

Tell me, Tanagra, who made
Out of clay so sweet a thing?
Are you the immortal shade
Of a man's imagining?
In your incarnation meet
All things fair and all things fleet.

Arrow from Diana's bow,
Atalanta's feet of fire,
Some one made you long ago,
Mad