Ah, sweet
To miss the vexing heat
Of the heart’s desire: 
Only to know
All’s lost, lost.... 
Sweet
To know the lack of sweet.

—­Thou fool! 
See how the steady dark
Is filled with eyes—­
Eyes that smile,
Hot, then how cool! 
Eyes that were stars till thou
Mad’st them eyes. 
O, the tormenting
Look, the unrelenting
Passionate kiss
Of their wild light on thine—­
Light of thine eyes!

As if one could
Loathe the world for too much sweetness! 
All the air’s a flame,
Wonderful—­yet the same
Thou’st hated,
Being briefly sated
With sweet of sweetness.

Forgive a heart whose madness
Was not of madness born,
But of mere wild
Waste of desire.... 
Who does not know
One speaks so, or so,
Out of mere passion
That sees not love
From hate, nor life from death,
Nor hell from heaven?

In the East—­oh, that flashed
Brightness, past
The loveliness even
Of sunset’s flush!

THE HOLY MOUNTAINS

The holy mountains,
The gay streams,
Heavy shadows,
And tall, trembling trees;
The light that sleeps
Between the heavy shadows,
Wind that creeps
Faintly, from far-off seas——­

The mountains’ light,
Waters’ noise,
Trees’ shadows,
Clear, slow, calm air,
Are dreams, dreams,
And far, far-fallen echoes
Of secret worlds
And inconceivable dark seas.

RAPTURE

If thou hast grief
And passion vex the spirit that is in thee—­

There was a stony beach
Where the heat flickered and the little waves
Whispered each to each. 
Dove-coloured was that stony beach,
And white birds hungering hovered over
The shining waves;
And men had kindled there
A great fierce heap of golden flame—­
Spoiled grasses with dead buttercups and pale clover. 
The agonising flame
Yearned in its vitals towards the quiet air
And died in a little smoke. 
And on the coloured beach the black warm ash
Remained.

Then on that warm ash
Another heap of grasses was outpoured,
And instant came
Another knot of struggling yellow smoke
That burst into new agonies of flame,
Dying into a drift of smoke;
And on the coloured beach the black cold ash
Remained.

Or is thy grief too deep,
Passion too dear, the spirit in thee asleep?—­

Twelve deep and sombre, still,
Expectant, hushed,
The miles-long crowd stood—­and then listening. 
The nervous drums,
The unendurable, low reeds: 
Silence—­and then the nearing drums
Again, again the thrilling reeds,
And then
(The deep crowd hushed)
Following an almightier King
That rode unseen,
Drew near the tributary magnificence.... 
Hushed, hushed,
The deep crowd stood, devouring, listening;
But a child on his father’s shoulder cried,
“Hurrah, hurrah!”—­