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A Chorus of Leaves 
 
A. Chorus ( 
 
 From a painting by 
 Wflliam Keith 
 
 

A Chorus of Leaves 
 
 by 
 
 Charles G. Blanden 
 
 Paul Elder and Company 
 Publishers, San Francisco 
 
- 
 
 //J £04 
 
 copy a* 
 
 
 Copyright, 1905 
 
 &y Paul Elder and Company 
 
 San Francisco 
 
 The Tomoye Press 
 San Francisco 
 
Dedication. * 
 
 Chorus or 
 
 Leaves. 
 
 To Wallace Rice. 
 
 Thou jealous guarder of the Muse's realm, 
 With ever-watchful eye unto her good, 
 Strict altar-beeper in the sacred wood, 
 That no rude comer may her overwhelm, 
 I pray thee (since unto these shores my helm 
 And urgent gales hade brought me o'er the flood 
 Of rampant seas) that I with many a bud 
 Of fancy and with bow of fairy elm, 
 May shoot a fragrant arrow in her sky, 
 And herald so a heart has loved her long, 
 That now would worship, ere in earth it lie 
 And answer not to any spur' of Song ; — 
 Therefore, I come, and on these sands of time 
 Breal^ at thy feet this little bale of rhyme. 
 
Contents. ^, . 
 
 Chorus or 
 Leaves. 
 Dedication, to Wallace Rice ------- iii ^ 
 
 Awake! - 1 W, 
 
 If I Were Love --------- 3 
 
 March ---------- 4 
 
 The Torch of Love --------6 
 
 The Awakening -------- ~J 
 
 If Love Be There ---------8 
 
 Anacreon --------- 9 
 
 The Time O' Year - 10 
 
 Here and Hereafter -------- II 
 
 Love Was Coming Down the Lane - - - - - - 1 2 
 
 Lo ! Now the Sun -------- 13 
 
 Till Joy Goes By -------- 14 
 
 The Storm --------- 15 
 
 Blow Gently, Soul of Winds 16 
 
 There Ever Is Time - - - - - - - - 17 
 
 The Song Maker - - - - - - - -18 
 
 T he Wings of Time -------- 19 
 
 And When My Petals Fall ------- 20 
 
 The Lost Rose - - - - - - - - 21 
 
 Poverty ----------22 
 
 A Turkish Love Song -------23 
 
 The Lover ----------24 
 
 Love and Poesy -------- 25 
 
 Fear Not - - - - 27 
 
 Send Round the Cup -------28 
 
 In Season ---------- 29 
 
 Cupid, at Me Laughing -------30 
 
 The Woman Speaks - - - - - - - -31 
 
 Ashes of Dreams --------32 
 
 Occupied ----------33 
 
 Roses ----- 34 
 
 Hyssop ---------- 35 
 
 Immunity --------- 36 
 
 The House ----------37 
 
 Violet ---------- 38 
 
 I Question Not --------- 39 
 
 The Old Moon - - 40 
 
 The Wreath --------- 41 
 
 A Fairy Song 42 
 
 Wingless - 43 
 
A Griselda 44 
 
 Chorus of To Pygmalion --------.45 
 
 Leaves. Where Sleep the Leaves ------- 46 
 
 ¥ Little Lives ----47 
 
 Delusion -------- 48 
 
 To Be Immortal 49 
 
 Bring Hither Your Roses -------50 
 
 Love Knows ---------52 
 
 Finis 53 
 
Awake ! 
 
 A 
 
 Chorus of 
 Leaves. 
 
 Awake, ye woods, 
 
 Ye fields, awake, 
 Ye solitudes 
 
 Sweet music make; 
 Come, birds, and sing, 
 Bees, forth on wing, 
 For soft the winds do blow; 
 
 Sing, sing, sing liberty — 
 
 Sing liberty and joy 
 And freedom from the snow. 
 
 Awake, ye buds, 
 
 And, grass, arise, 
 To welcome floods 
 
 From April skies. 
 O brooks, forget 
 Your chains and let 
 Your merry music flow! 
 
 Sing, sing, sing liberty — 
 
 Sing liberty and joy 
 And freedom from the snow. 
 
 Awake, my heart, 
 
 'Tis time you should 
 
 With winter part 
 In time so good; 
 
 Come, join the throng 
 
A And swell the song 
 
 lorus of 
 
 Leaves. That all the world may know; 
 
 £ Sing, sing, sing liberty — 
 
 Sing liberty and joy 
 And freedom from your woe. 
 
 2] 
 
If I Were Love. A , 
 
 Chorus of 
 
 Would I were Love! my joy should be 
 Ever to linger near to thee. 
 Sleeping, on roses I would lie 
 In the bright summer of thine eye ; 
 Waking, perchance I would go hide 
 In the heart-chambers of thy side, 
 And give thee, oh, such little frights, 
 For love, thou couldst not sleep o' nights. 
 
 3] 
 
 Lea 
 
 ves. 
 
A 
 
 Chorus of 
 
 Leaves. 
 
 March. 
 
 When March his lusty trumpet blows 
 
 Throughout our valleys drear, 
 The scattered, old, affrighted snows 
 
 Like phantoms disappear. 
 Lo! now the watercourses shout, 
 
 And soon their banners gay, 
 The royal grasses shaking out, 
 
 Shall glad the face of day. 
 
 Bold bugler of the sun's return, 
 
 Whose note the heart inspires, 
 In whose brave eyes such glories burn 
 
 As dazzle mortal lyres, 
 Blow up thy merry legions strong, 
 
 And this sad realm invest 
 With bud, with blossom and with song 
 
 And all the laughing rest. 
 
 Sound, herald, sound thy breezy horn! 
 
 The battle half is won 
 When thou dost call from morn till morn 
 
 The edict of the sun. 
 More like a stately pomp shall be 
 
 The coming of thy king, 
 Since where thou goest, startled, flee 
 
 The enemies of spring. 
 
 [4] 
 
saves. 
 
 Hail ! Hail, O March, that canst so scare A 
 
 The shadows of old earth Le a 
 
 That fields do bloom and bees forth fare 
 
 And Hope renews her mirth ! 
 When thou dost lie at April's feet, 
 
 Like some true warrior dead, 
 May she with blossoms, fair as sweet, 
 
 Adorn thy lowly bed. 
 
 And where thy sturdy form shall sleep, 
 
 Let violets arise 
 And many a vine of summer creep, 
 
 And zephyr breathe his sighs. 
 So shall thy warrior heart, content, 
 
 Outslumber Time's despite, 
 And in a calmer element 
 
 Find more of peace and light. 
 
 5] 
 
chorus!! The Torch of Love. 
 
 Leaves. 
 
 ^ She smiled on me, and in my heart 
 
 I felt the flames of Troy ; 
 Full well I knew what Paris dreamed, 
 And what was Helen's joy. 
 
 [6 
 
The Awakening. 
 
 Lo! the grass has sprouted, 
 And the buds are pouted 
 
 On my apple-tree ; 
 All the hopes I doubted, 
 All the dreams I flouted, 
 
 Stir like sap in me. 
 
 Go, call in the neighbors, 
 Sound the horns and tabors 
 
 And the cymbals sound; 
 Shares are sprung from sabres! 
 Crowned are all my labors, — 
 
 And may yours be crowned. 
 
 A 
 
 Chorus of 
 Leaves. 
 
 7] 
 
A 
 
 Chorus of 
 
 If Love Be There. 
 
 If love be there, all marriage feasts 
 Are feasts of the Divine, 
 
 And where but water flowed before, 
 A plenitude of wine. 
 
Anacreon. 
 
 Unto sweet love and to the lyre 
 
 The bard of Teos gave his days. 
 Within his heart how warm the fire! 
 
 Upon his brows how cool the bays! 
 His was the music of desire, 
 
 Played down a thousand happy ways; 
 His was the soul, in star attire, 
 
 Gave us Elysium in his lays. 
 
 A 
 
 Chorus of 
 Leaves. 
 
 [9 
 
A 
 
 Chorus of 
 Leaves. 
 
 The Time O' Year. 
 
 Oh, what 's the time o' year ? 
 
 Green, — green things are growing 
 Far and near; 
 
 Violets are blowing 
 Without fear; 
 
 Rivulets are flowing, 
 Of icy thralldom clear. 
 Say, what's the time o' year? 
 
 Oh, what's the time o' year? 
 
 You, robin, singing so, 
 
 You, swallow, winging so, 
 
 You, grasses, springing so, 
 Say, what 's the time o' year ? 
 
 Is April, April, merry April — 
 Is April really here ? 
 
Here and Hereafter. 
 
 A 
 
 Chorus of 
 Leaves. 
 
 If love with this short life doth end, ^ 
 
 Be thou my friend ; 
 
 If love dies not, 
 
 In love let friendship be forgot. 
 
Chorus 
 Leaves. 
 
 t Love Was Coming Down the Lane. 
 
 5J Love was coming down the lane, 
 
 Winged, rosy, blind, 
 In his hand his little bow, 
 Quiver slung behind. 
 
 Now, thought I, he cannot see: 
 
 If I stand aside, 
 He must pass me, ignorant, 
 
 Therefore satisfied. 
 
 Kept I silent in my place; 
 
 Near, more near, he came, 
 While the beating of my heart 
 
 Fanned each cheek to flame. 
 
 And I, anxious, held my breath; 
 
 He will pass me — no; 
 He is crying, pretty dear, 
 
 It should not be so. 
 
 Touched with pity, then quoth I : 
 "Weep, oh, weep no more!" 
 
 And he, laughing, sent his shaft 
 To my bosom's core. 
 
 [12] 
 
Lo! Now the Sun. c^of 
 
 Leaves. 
 
 Lo! now the Sun, with golden-flashing eye, ^ 
 
 Doth fire his rosy altars in the east, 
 And all the congregated clouds do blush 
 Response, beholding them and their high-priest. 
 
 13 
 
A 
 
 Chorus of 
 Leaves. 
 
 Till Joy Goes By. 
 
 Tears are the waters of those springs 
 Where Grief, with dark imaginings, 
 Doth sit and conjure up the stream — 
 Till Joy goes by with his bright dream; 
 When, lo! her magic is forgot, 
 And that sad tide which was, is not; 
 While she herself melts to a shade 
 That Joy doth banish from the glade, 
 As down those channels dry he sends 
 Laughter, with all his dimpled friends. 
 
 4] 
 
The Storm. chorus of 
 
 Leaves. 
 
 This moaning storm, this crackling sky — ^ 
 
 Lear is abroad tonight; 
 I would the filial Dawn were nigh, 
 
 The sweet Cordelia, Light. 
 
 5] 
 
A 
 
 Chorus of 
 Leaves. 
 
 Blow Gently, Soul of Winds. 
 
 Blow gently, Soul of Winds, 
 That in the garden finds 
 
 The rose but newly blown; 
 Blow faintly, or you slay 
 And take fore'er away 
 
 A glory not your own. 
 
 Blow softly, more and more; 
 Yet to the rose's core 
 
 Delve down, and if you see 
 Therein a rude worm curled, 
 Blow coldest in the world 
 
 And freeze him utterly. 
 
 16 
 
There Ever Is Time. 
 
 Oh, let the bird sing, 
 
 And let the sun shine, 
 
 This slumber is sweet 
 As Lesbian wine! 
 
 Away! let me sleep; 
 
 Away! let me lie; 
 There ever is time 
 
 To put our dreams by. 
 
 A 
 
 Chorus of 
 
 [17] 
 
A 
 
 Chorus of 
 
 Leaves. 
 
 The Song Maker. 
 
 He goes his way, alone, and no man knows 
 How keen his pleasures or how vast his woes. 
 His plummet sounds all seas, and from all heights 
 Receives he first the tribute of all lights; 
 The past, the future — they are his; the hour 
 That's here he loves as he doth love a flower. 
 The human heart he reads as 'twere a book, 
 And like a seer into the soul doth look, 
 And from the world as from a mighty wood 
 He gathers the sweet seeds of solitude 
 (Which also are the seeds of Song), and deep 
 Within his breast he sows them, whence they leap 
 To such delightful blooms of melody 
 That men do marvel, saying, "We are free!" 
 Or, "Let us hope," or, "Let us greed forget," 
 Or, "Farther on let us our standard set;" 
 For one before us all the mountain thrills: 
 "The springs of life are higher up the hills." 
 
The Wings of Time. 
 
 A 
 
 Chorus of 
 Leaves. 
 
 Oh, that this golden hour with thee 3? 
 
 Had not the power to fly away! 
 Oh, love, that ever there should be 
 
 So sad a thing as yesterday! 
 
 [19] 
 
A 
 
 Chorus of 
 Leaves. 
 
 And When My Petals Fall. 
 
 Come, woo me like a butterfly; 
 
 My heart is rose today, 
 And lightly, lightly, lightly, I 
 
 Would dream the hours away. 
 
 And when my petals fall ? 
 
 Oh, now, I have no care; 
 So love demand them all, 
 
 The heart may well be bare. 
 
 [201 
 
The Lost Rose. 
 
 One time in hell there bloomed a rose, 
 
 Dropped from high Heaven by a child; 
 
 The Souls, remembering not their woes 
 For one too-fleeting moment, smiled. 
 
 And up there went a cry to Heaven 
 
 That made its firm foundations quake: 
 
 "If roses three to us were given, 
 
 This hell were heaven for their sake." 
 
 Then was in Heaven a merry shout 
 As all the little children there, 
 
 With roses white, to blot hell out, 
 Strewed all the regions of despair. 
 
 A 
 
 Chorus of 
 Leaves. 
 
 [21] 
 
A 
 
 Chorus of 
 
 Leaves. 
 
 ^ Had I the heart to steal a kiss 
 
 Poverty. 
 
 That Julia's lips would never miss, 
 My soul a princely Dives were — 
 And yet but Lazarus to her. 
 
 22 
 
A Turkish Love Song. chorus „f 
 
 Leaves. 
 
 One knocked at his beloved's door, H 
 
 "And who is there?" a voice did say. 
 
 "Tis I," he answered, "bowed before 
 The gleaming star that is my day." 
 
 Then said the voice: "This house can hold 
 
 Not thee and me." The lover rose; 
 Where naught but Allah is, he told, — 
 
 In the Saharan waste, — his woes. 
 
 A year in solitude he prayed, 
 
 And fed his soul at Allah's shrine, 
 Then knocked upon the door and made 
 
 Upon his lips a holy sign. 
 
 " Now, who is there ? " a soft voice said. 
 
 " It is thyself — thyself ! " he cried ; 
 And open flew the door, and wed 
 
 Were they ere the sweet echo died. 
 
 23 
 
A 
 
 Chorus of 
 Leaves. 
 
 The Lover. 
 
 Lo ! at the time appointed 
 Into thy presence I come, 
 
 And like a prophet, anointed, 
 
 I stand in thy Brightness, dumb. 
 
 I lift mine eyes to thy beauty, 
 And, blinded, I turn away — 
 
 To tread in the presses of duty 
 For ever and a day. 
 
 24 
 
Love and Poesy. 
 
 A 
 
 Chorus of 
 Leaves. 
 
 Cupid, once upon a time, 
 Vowed that he would take to rhyme, 
 Threw his bow and barbs away, 
 Crowned his temples with some bay, 
 Filled his quiver up with ink 
 And so sat him down to think. 
 You had laughed to see him then, 
 Nibbling, nibbling at his pen, 
 Frowning till his brow serene 
 Was a furrowed dark demesne, 
 All his curls so tossed and tangled 
 As with Psyche he had wrangled. 
 In his cheeks — no roses there; 
 On his lips the wan of care ; 
 Years and years he older seemed 
 Ere he had a bird's nap dreamed. 
 Not one little line he wrote, 
 Then with, oh, so sweet a note 
 Said he, " Cupid cannot be 
 Lord of Love and Poesy ; 
 All his time to love must go. 
 He forgets his metres so, 
 Useless 't is for him to scan 
 All the passions of a man ; 
 Enough to bid him throb and thrill, 
 Come what may and come what will 
 
 [25] 
 
A Throb and thrill in Beauty's train 
 
 Chorus of 
 
 Leaves. Though he win him but disdain." 
 
 Whereupon the tousled bay 
 
 From his temples off he tore, 
 Threw his ink and quill away : 
 "Poet will I be no more, 
 But with poets when they sing, 
 Faith, I'll go a-journeying ; 
 Mount the airy heights they gain, 
 Spur them on to lofty strain, 
 Mix and mingle draughts divine 
 That shall fire their every line 
 With a music pure and high, 
 Sweet as roses when day closes ; 
 Such is love and such am I," 
 Saying which he said " Good-bye. 
 
 [26] 
 
Fear Not. chorus of 
 
 O leaf that runnest fast 
 Along my garden path, 
 
 Why fearest thou the blast 
 
 And the bald year's wrath? 
 
 Fear not; all things are old, 
 And all do seek repose; 
 
 Drink deeply of the cold — 
 And dream of April's rose. 
 
 [27 
 
 Leaves. 
 
chorus of Send Round the Cup. 
 
 Leaves. 
 
 J£ Come, fill the golden loving-cup 
 
 With amber winking wine, 
 And send it gayly on its round, 
 
 The hour — the hour's divine. 
 Awake the harps to music sweet 
 
 And scatter roses deep, — 
 A health to Beauty and her train, 
 
 Away, away with sleep. 
 Abroad do sing the nightingales, 
 
 The moon is coming up, 
 And twice a thousand stars have bloomed — 
 
 Send round the loving-cup ! 
 
 'Tis summertime, the jewelled date 
 
 Of youth and joy and love, 
 When cheeks do glow and eyes do shine 
 
 And lips a cherry prove. 
 Another round ! and let the song 
 
 Be merry that you sing, 
 The hours are swift — let them be bright 
 
 And happiness be king; 
 And let your hearts with rhythm beat 
 
 And let your souls be free, 
 For life is hope and hope is bliss 
 
 And bliss is melody. 
 
 28 
 
In Season. c horus of 
 
 Leaves. 
 
 'Twas on a day full forty birds ^ 
 
 Did in my garden mate, 
 That I, with just as flutter-words 
 
 As theirs, sealed my sweet fate. 
 
 29] 
 
A 
 
 Chorus of 
 
 Leaves. 
 
 Cupid, at Me Laughing. 
 
 Cupid, at me laughing 
 
 As I happened by — 
 Cupid, slyly chaffing 
 
 As I chanced to sigh, 
 Of his darts I stnpt him, 
 
 Shut him in a cell; 
 When he wept I whipt him, 
 
 And I whipt him well. 
 
 Woe is me! my passion 
 
 Drove me from his grace; 
 Hence, behold my ashen 
 
 Pallor and sad face. 
 Now, when by I wander, 
 
 Cupid stares, alas! 
 And I, fond and fonder 
 
 Of him, weep and pass. 
 
 30 
 
The Woman Speaks. 
 
 A 
 
 Chorus of 
 Leaves. 
 
 Because you love me, sir, so much ^ 
 
 You have no tongue to shout it? 
 Pray, love me just a trifle less 
 
 And tell me all about it. 
 
 31] 
 
A 
 
 Chorus of 
 
 Leaves. 
 
 Ashes of Dreams. 
 
 Hope, like a clown in motley dressed, 
 Keeps up a chatter in my breast, 
 Laughs at my sorrows, mocks my tears, 
 Shakes a child-rattle at my fears, 
 And, pointing to some happy stars, 
 Bids me forget my flaming scars 
 And pluck the thorns that pierce me still; 
 And so my cup with nectar fill. 
 No doubt this sage advice is good, 
 And I would take it if I could. 
 But what is hope when love is dead? 
 When all the petals bright are shed, 
 Whose hand so skilful as to stud 
 The brow of Autumn with a bud ? 
 What happy star can light again 
 The ashes of the dreams of men? 
 
 32 
 
Occupied. 
 
 A 
 
 Chorus of 
 Leaves. 
 
 A very minster is thy heart, ^ 
 
 Wherein so many dead loves be, 
 I fancy that when I depart 
 
 There'll be no corner, love, for me. 
 
 33 
 
chorus of hvoses. 
 
 Leaves. 
 
 ^ These are his roses; 
 
 Where is his heart? 
 His gift discloses 
 
 Consummate art : 
 Friendship exposes; — 
 
 Is love his part ? 
 These are his roses ; 
 
 Where is his heart? 
 
 34 
 
Hyssop. 
 
 A 
 
 Chorus of 
 Leaves. 
 
 I cannot bear your load of grief, 
 
 Nor you my joy lift up; 
 The dew that gleams on my bright leaf 
 
 Were hyssop in your cup. 
 
 [351 
 
A 
 
 Chorus of 
 Leaves. 
 
 Immunity. 
 
 I am a sea nymph, and I dwell 
 In the pearl palace of a shell. 
 When pleasant is the sky, I sing, 
 At my bright portal, to the king 
 Of the great tides; but when the blast 
 Piles up the waves to mountains vast, 
 I keep my house in a safe cove 
 And dream of the calm things I love. 
 
 mortal, when perchance you find 
 My home up-driven by the wind 
 And the over-angered, hard sea, 
 
 1 pray thee be not rough with me; 
 Preserve my house, and so shall I 
 Desert it not, but ever try 
 
 (If thou wilt listen to my lay) 
 
 To please with what sweet songs I may ! 
 
 But if thou lovest me full well, 
 
 Give to its element the shell, 
 
 And ever after, night and morn, 
 
 For thee shall Triton blow his horn, 
 
 And so proclaim thee rightly free 
 
 From the huge perils of the sea. 
 
 36 
 
The House. 
 
 A 
 
 Chorus of 
 Leaves. 
 
 This I've found out, beyond a doubt: ^ 
 
 A house without a woman in it 
 Is just a nest without the linnet; 
 It turns to lumber in a minute. 
 
 37 
 
A 
 
 Chorus of 
 
 Leaves. 
 
 Violet. 
 
 frail and unassuming flower, 
 
 How sleeps my love below? 
 Thy virtues seem a part of her, 
 
 Thine were her eyes, I know. 
 Her heart was kind, her manner sweet, 
 
 She had a timid air; 
 
 1 know that love made up her soul, 
 
 And she was heavenly fair. 
 
 I know that she is sleeping now 
 
 Beneath the mound you grace, 
 And when I look into your eyes 
 
 I seem to see her face; 
 Her spirit pure within you dwells, 
 
 And, silent, teaches me 
 What loveliness to time belongs, 
 
 What to eternity. 
 
 38 
 
I Question Not. 
 
 Fate, I question not thy blows, 
 Fall when fall they may; 
 
 I'm at peace with all my foes, 
 I am old and grey. 
 
 Fate, I thank thee for thy fare, 
 
 Years of ample cheer. 
 Strike, and leave me cold and bare; 
 
 Strike — but find no fear. 
 
 A 
 
 Chorus of 
 Leaves. 
 
 39 
 
A 
 
 Chorus of 
 Leaves. 
 
 The Old Moon. 
 
 I wonder what the old Moon thinks 
 As, gaunt and grey, she views 
 
 The fresh young Morn that, blushing, drinks 
 Cool cups of lucent dews. 
 
 As in the sun-drenched sky she pales, 
 
 And ghostlike onward goes, 
 Sighs she for her late-glamoured vales 
 
 And the sweet-sleeping rose? 
 
 Or are her thoughts of sadder things — 
 
 Of darkness and the tomb? 
 Remembers she, or not, she springs 
 
 From her dead self to bloom? 
 
 O Life, that buds and blooms and dies — 
 
 How know we death is real, 
 When we, not watchers in all skies, 
 
 All truths can not unseal? 
 
 40 
 
The Wreath. l„, of 
 
 Leaves. 
 
 To Worth I flung a wreath of bay ; ^ 
 
 He looked, he smiled; he did not bend; 
 
 But Craft stooped down along the way, 
 Picked up and wore it to the end. 
 
 41 
 
chorus of A Fairy Song. 
 
 A 
 
 LIS 
 
 Leaves 
 
 Welcome! welcome! fairies all. 
 Welcome! welcome! to this hall — 
 To this still and moonlit glade. 
 Here shall all your troubles fade; 
 Here, in mead, shall drown your cares, 
 And ye breathe ambrosial airs. 
 Ho, you players, music sweet! 
 Come, you dancers, flash your feet! 
 Scatter blossoms! and to each, 
 Wine of our best vintage reach. 
 Welcome one and welcome all 
 To the fairies' festal hall! 
 Ho! you warders of this land, 
 On our leafy borders stand; 
 Keep us guard till morning-star 
 That no imp our revels mar; 
 Let no slight intruder pass; 
 Pierce him with a spear of grass, 
 Bind him with a chain of thistle — 
 Till the first red robin whistle. 
 
 42 
 
Wingless. l rusof 
 
 Leaves. 
 
 This house was once the home of Youth, ^ 
 
 'Tis now the home of Age — 
 Or has the butterfly, forsooth, 
 
 Grown wingless in his cage? 
 
 [43 
 
A 
 
 Chorus of 
 
 Leaves. 
 
 Griselda. 
 
 I would not try thee as was tried 
 
 The patient wife Grisel; 
 I know that thou couldst do her tasks 
 
 As sweetly and as well. 
 
 And if I knew that thou in all 
 
 Her trials hard shouldst fail, 
 Too much I love thee, dearest one, 
 
 To see thee pine and pale. 
 
 Yea, more, methinks, I'd love thee, sweet, 
 
 If thou her lot shouldst flout, 
 And say: "He loves but ill the rose 
 
 Who plucks one petal out." 
 
 44] L.rfG. 
 
To Pygmalion. 
 
 A 
 
 Chorus of 
 Leaves. 
 
 Oh, foolish one to bring to life ^ 
 
 The dream of thy poetic skill; 
 A million women were thy wife 
 
 To o' 7 that could thy dream fulfill ! 
 
 45 
 
A 
 
 Chorus of 
 
 Leaves. 
 
 Where Sleep the Leaves. 
 
 An unseen shepherd is the wind, 
 
 And singing as he goes 
 He drives, wherever he may find, 
 
 The petals of the rose. 
 
 All huddling on into the fold 
 
 Of the cold night, they run — 
 
 To where, when winter's lean and old, 
 The crocus finds the sun. 
 
 46 
 
Little Lives. 
 
 How many little lives, alas! 
 
 Die with sad summer, in the grass; 
 
 How many little songs grow still, 
 
 Because no more the blossoms spill 
 
 Sweet nectars for them, morn and eve — 
 
 Because the chill winds round them grieve 
 
 Yet I live on into the cold, 
 
 Deep snow — till that I wander, old, 
 
 Till 1 am Winter's brother, white, 
 
 And longing for the warm spring light. 
 
 Not long, not long, O little friends, 
 The triumph that our Mother lends 
 To me, — an hour, a day, a year, 
 And I shall sleep upon my bier 
 As full of peace as there is need, 
 With that same rest ye do possess, 
 Hid in the bosom of the mead 
 And sealed in dim f orgetfulness ! 
 
 A 
 
 Chorus of 
 Leaves. 
 
 47 
 
chorus of Delusion. 
 
 Leaves. 
 
 "*£ 'Tis ever the moth and the flame, my dear, 
 
 'Tis ever delusive things 
 That, yearning, we follow until, my dear, 
 We lose our golden wings. 
 
 And like the rash Icarian youth, 
 
 We fall in a sorry sea, 
 Thereafter to wander, a lonesome ghost 
 
 Of that which we longed to be. 
 
 48 
 
To Be Immortal. c horus of 
 
 Leaves. 
 
 To be immortal — it were dross, ^ 
 
 Aye, it were immortal loss 
 
 To live for ever, if we might 
 
 Not climb (not soar) from vale to height. 
 
 To be immortal — just to dwell 
 
 In heaven were not heaven but hell. 
 
 And so with love. Progression is 
 
 The very essence of its bliss; 
 
 If it grow not, then must it fade — 
 
 Be not Love's self but just Love's shade. 
 
 [49J 
 
A 
 
 Chorus of 
 Leaves. 
 
 Bring Hither Your Roses. 
 
 Bring hither your roses 
 
 And hither your rue, 
 And twine me two garlands 
 
 All wet with the dew; 
 The roses for Beauty, 
 
 O'ergiven to doom, 
 Shall form a bright chaplet 
 
 To lie on her tomb. 
 
 The rue round our temples 
 
 We'll bind for our grief, 
 To gently remind us 
 
 That beauty is brief, 
 That still we adore it, 
 
 And long shall adore, 
 Though its splendor is faded, 
 
 Its glory no more. 
 
 Whose heart is so hollow, 
 
 Whose soul is so bare 
 That never the spirit 
 
 Of beauty breathes there? 
 Oh, none is so lonely 
 
 And none is so poor, 
 If only her shadow 
 
 May brighten his door! 
 
 1501 
 
So pluck the bright roses ^ of 
 
 And gather the rue, Leaves. 
 
 And weave me two garlands £ 
 
 All wet with the dew; 
 The roses lor Beauty 
 
 That lies on her bier, 
 The rue for the ransom 
 
 Of many a tear. 
 
 [5 
 
A 
 
 Chorus of 
 Leaves. 
 
 Love Knows. 
 
 Love knows, Love knows his unseen dart 
 
 Shall wound us when his bow he bends. 
 Unto the strength of every heart 
 
 To every heart some grief he sends, 
 For unto him is given the task 
 To tear from the white soul the mask 
 That shrouds it; his to measure, sound 
 Its depths and learn just how profound 
 Or shallow 'tis. For till he know 
 Our full capacity for woe, 
 He cannot tell how great — or small — 
 The joy must be to quench it all. 
 
 52 
 
r inis. chorus of 
 
 Le 
 
 aves. 
 
 Dance your last dance, you little leaves, 
 Shake your red sandals in the sun, 
 
 For even now the cold air weaves 
 A snowy shroud for every one. 
 
 Fast fall the flakes that soon shall hide; 
 
 Dance your last dance, you happy fays, 
 And so let me, what e'er betide, 
 
 Go to life's end down mirthful ways. 
 
 [53] 
 
AUG 21 19C5 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
 up 
 
 w 016 115 743 m