Let April fade!  For me, unfading bloom!... 
      The little fruitless seed
Deep sown of fire within the midmost gloom,
      A sterner fire to feed:—­
The rainbow, frozen in a lasting dew;
  Green-gazing emerald, fresh as grass beneath
        The placid rose. 
Fair pearl, and you, fair pearl, and you and you,
  Rained from the moon, and kissing in a wreath,
    As moment unto eager moment goes! 
Look back at me, you sapphires blue and wise
With farthest twilight, blue resplendent eyes
      That never weep, nor close.

O house me, glories!  Give me house and home
      Here for my homelessness. 
Set forth for me the wine, the honeycomb
      Whereto desire saith ‘Yes!’
O Senses, weave me from all lovely dust
  Some home-array, some fair familiar garb
        For me, exiled. 
Charm me some rare anointment I may trust
  Against her query, searching like a barb
    The dumbness of a heart unreconciled. 
Clothe me with silver; fold me from dismay;
  Save me from pity.  For I hear her say,
      ‘Alas, Alas, poor child!’

’Alas, Alas, thou lost poor child, how long? 
      Why wilt thou suffer want? 
Why must I hear thy weeping through thy song,
      And see thine eyes grow gaunt? 
Making sad feast upon the crumbs of light
  Shed long ago from heavenly highways where
        Thy brethren are! 
And thy heart smoulders in thee, to be bright,
  Thy one sole refuge from thy one despair,
    Fraying the thwarted body with a scar. 
How long, before thine eyelids, desolate,
How long shall this thy dark dominion wait
        For thee, belated Star?’

Beloved, if the Moon could weep,
    Or if the Sun could see
How all these weltering alleys keep
    Their outcast treasury!

O bitter, bitter-sweet!—­
Beauty of babyhood,—­
Earth’s wistful uttermost of good
Flung out upon the street;
Fouled, even as the highways would,
With mirk and mire and bruise;
The cheek more petal-fine
Than rose before a shrine! 
Those hands like star-fish in the ooze,
And fingers fain to cling
To any stronger thing! 
And smiles, for one triumphal Gift,
Should one lean down, and lift! 
And tendril hair;—­O in such wise,
With wild lights aureoled,
The morning-glories twine and hold,
In some far paradise!

Oh well and deep, the foul ways keep
    Lost treasure hid from day!—­
Sun may not see:  but only we,
    Who look; and look away.

THE GOLDEN SHOES

The winds are lashing on the sea;
  The roads are blind with storm. 
And it’s far and far away with me;
  So bide you there, stay warm. 
It’s forth I must, and forth to-day;
  And I have no path to choose. 
The highway hill, it is my way still.—­
  Give me my golden shoes.