will be parched and dry.
To-morrow it shall be my goal
To throw myself away from me,
To lose the outline of my soul
Against the greyness of the sea.

THE DOG TUPMAN

Oh little friend of half my days,
My little friend, who followed me
Along those crooked sullen ways
That only you had eyes to see.

You felt the same. You understood
You too, defensive and morose,
Encloaked your secret puppyhood--
Your secret heart--and hid them close.

For I alone have seen you serve,
Disciple of those early springs,
With ears awry and tail a-curve
You lost yourself in puppy things.

And you saw me. You bore in mind
The clean and sunny things I felt
When, throwing hate along the wind,
I flashed the lantern at my belt.

The moment passed, and we returned
To barren words and old cold truth,
Yet in our hearts our lanterns burned,
We two had seen each other's youth.

When filthy pain did wrap me round
Your upright ears I always saw,
And on my outflung hand I found
The blessing of your horny paw;

And yet--oh impotence of men--
My paw, more soft but not more wise,
Old friend, was lacking to you when
You looked your crisis in the eyes....

You shared my youth, oh faithful friend,
You let me share your puppyhood;
So, if I failed you in the end,
My friend, my friend, you understood.

SAINT BRIDE

About your brow a starry wreath,
About your feet a wilderness,
Where young hot hopes grow cold beneath
The tangled bondage of the press.
Set like a saint within a niche--
A strait and narrow niche--you hide,
And weave a veil about you, which
Can turn our steel, Saint Bride, Saint Bride.

The eyes of coarse and pond'rous man
Are sceptic and satirical.
"_What, little saint, and still you scan
Old heaven for that miracle?_"
Oh heart deceived, yet harmed not,
Child-widow of a truth that died,
Bearer in mind of things forgot,
Bride of a dream, Saint Bride, Saint Bride.

About you and about you thunders
The wise young public on its 'bus,
Exploding all your faery blunders,
Explaining neatly--"_Thus and thus
Hath science banished heaven now,
And see--your Groom is crucified--_"
On heaven's breast you lean your brow
And laugh, and love--Saint Bride, Saint Bride.

THE SLAVE OF GOD

The finest fruit God ever made
Hangs from the Tree of Heaven blue.
It hangs