DECEMBER

Riding upon the Goat, with snow-white hair,
  I come, the last of all.  This crown of mine
Is of the holly; in my hand I bear
  The thyrsus, tipped with fragrant cones of pine. 
I celebrate the birth of the Divine,
  And the return of the Saturnian reign;—­
My songs are carols sung at every shrine,
  Proclaiming “Peace on earth, good will to men.”

AUTUMN WITHIN

It is autumn; not without,
  But within me is the cold. 
Youth and spring are all about;
  It is I that have grown old.

Birds are darting through the air,
  Singing, building without rest;
Life is stirring everywhere,
  Save within my lonely breast.

There is silence:  the dead leaves
  Fall and rustle and are still;
Beats no flail upon the sheaves
  Comes no murmur from the mill.

THE FOUR LAKES OF MADISON

Four limpid lakes,—­four Naiades
Or sylvan deities are these,
  In flowing robes of azure dressed;
Four lovely handmaids, that uphold
Their shining mirrors, rimmed with gold,
  To the fair city in the West.

By day the coursers of the sun
Drink of these waters as they run
  Their swift diurnal round on high;
By night the constellations glow
Far down the hollow deeps below,
  And glimmer in another sky.

Fair lakes, serene and full of light,
Fair town, arrayed in robes of white,
  How visionary ye appear! 
All like a floating landscape seems
In cloud-land or the land of dreams,
  Bathed in a golden atmosphere!

VICTOR AND VANQUISHED

As one who long hath fled with panting breath
  Before his foe, bleeding and near to fall,
  I turn and set my back against the wall,
  And look thee in the face, triumphant Death,
I call for aid, and no one answereth;
  I am alone with thee, who conquerest all;
  Yet me thy threatening form doth not appall,
  For thou art but a phantom and a wraith. 
Wounded and weak, sword broken at the hilt,
  With armor shattered, and without a shield,
  I stand unmoved; do with me what thou wilt;
I can resist no more, but will not yield. 
  This is no tournament where cowards tilt;
  The vanquished here is victor of the field.

MOONLIGHT

As a pale phantom with a lamp
  Ascends some ruin’s haunted stair,
So glides the moon along the damp
  Mysterious chambers of the air.

Now hidden in cloud, and now revealed,
  As if this phantom, full of pain,
Were by the crumbling walls concealed,
  And at the windows seen again.

Until at last, serene and proud
  In all the splendor of her light,
She walks the terraces of cloud,
  Supreme as Empress of the Night.