“And then, thou frail flower, she died and went,
Forgetting my pitiless banishment,
And that Old Woman—­an Aunt—­she said,
Came hither, lodged, fattened, and made her bed.

“Oh yes, thou most blessed, from Monday to Sunday,
Has lived on me, preyed on me, Mrs. Grundy: 
Called me, ‘dear Nephew’; on each of those chairs
Has gloated in righteousness, heard my prayers.

“Why didst thou dare the thorns of the grove,
Timidest trespasser, huntress of love? 
Now thou hast peeped, and now dost know
What kind of creature is thine for foe.

“Not that she’ll tear out thy innocent eyes,
Poison thy mouth with deviltries. 
Watch thou, wait thou:  soon will begin
The guile of a voice:  hark!...”  “Come in, Come in!”

THE TRYST

Flee into some forgotten night and be
Of all dark long my moon-bright company: 
Beyond the rumour even of Paradise come,
There, out of all remembrance, make our home: 
Seek we some close hid shadow for our lair,
Hollowed by Noah’s mouse beneath the chair
Wherein the Omnipotent, in slumber bound,
Nods till the piteous Trump of Judgment sound. 
Perchance Leviathan of the deep sea
Would lease a lost mermaiden’s grot to me,
There of your beauty we would joyance make—­
A music wistful for the sea-nymph’s sake: 
Haply Elijah, o’er his spokes of fire,
Cresting steep Leo, or the heavenly Lyre,
Spied, tranced in azure of inanest space,
Some eyrie hostel, meet for human grace,
Where two might happy be—­just you and I—­
Lost in the uttermost of Eternity. 
Think!  In Time’s smallest clock’s minutest beat
Might there not rest be found for wandering feet? 
Or, ’twixt the sleep and wake of Helen’s dream,
Silence wherein to sing love’s requiem? 
No, no.  Nor earth, nor air, nor fire, nor deep
Could lull poor mortal longingness asleep. 
Somewhere there Nothing is; and there lost Man
Shall win what changeless vague of peace he can.

ALONE

The abode of the nightingale is bare,
Flowered frost congeals in the gelid air,
The fox howls from his frozen lair: 
      Alas, my loved one is gone,
      I am alone: 
      It is winter.

Once the pink cast a winy smell,
The wild bee hung in the hyacinth bell,
Light in effulgence of beauty fell: 
      Alas, my loved one is gone,
      I am alone: 
      It is winter.

My candle a silent fire doth shed,
Starry Orion hunts o’erhead;
Come moth, come shadow, the world is dead: 
      Alas, my loved one is gone,
      I am alone: 
      It is winter.

THE EMPTY HOUSE

See this house, how dark it is
Beneath its vast-boughed trees! 
Not one trembling leaflet cries
To that Watcher in the skies—­
“Remove, remove thy searching gaze,
Innocent, of heaven’s ways,
Brood not, Moon, so wildly bright,
On secrets hidden from sight.”