THE BARRIER

  The Midnight wooed the Morning-Star,
    And prayed her:  “Love come nearer;
  Your swinging coldly there afar
    To me but makes you dearer!”

  The Morning-Star was pale with dole
    As said she, low replying: 
  “Oh, lover mine, soul of my soul,
    For you I too am sighing.

  “But One ordained when we were born,
    In spite of Love’s insistence,
  That Night might only view the Morn
    Adoring at a distance.”

  But as she spoke the jealous Sun
    Across the heavens panted. 
  “Oh, whining fools,” he cried, “have done;
    Your wishes shall be granted!”

  He hurled his flaming lances far;
    The twain stood unaffrighted—­
  And Midnight and the Morning-Star
    Lay down in death united!

DREAMS

  Dream on, for dreams are sweet: 
    Do not awaken! 
  Dream on, and at thy feet
    Pomegranates shall be shaken.

  Who likeneth the youth
    Of life to morning? 
  ’Tis like the night in truth,
    Rose-coloured dreams adorning.

  The wind is soft above,
    The shadows umber. 
  (There is a dream called Love.)
    Take thou the fullest slumber!

  In Lethe’s soothing stream,
    Thy thirst thou slakest. 
  Sleep, sleep; ’t is sweet to dream. 
    Oh, weep when thou awakest!

THE DREAMER

  Temples he built and palaces of air,
    And, with the artist’s parent-pride aglow,
    His fancy saw his vague ideals grow
  Into creations marvellously fair;

  He set his foot upon Fame’s nether stair. 
    But ah, his dream,—­it had entranced him so
    He could not move.  He could no farther go;
  But paused in joy that he was even there!

  He did not wake until one day there gleamed
    Thro’ his dark consciousness a light that racked
  His being till he rose, alert to act. 
  But lo! what he had dreamed, the while he dreamed,
    Another, wedding action unto thought,
    Into the living, pulsing world had brought.

WAITING

  The sun has slipped his tether
    And galloped down the west. 
  (Oh, it’s weary, weary waiting, love.)
  The little bird is sleeping
    In the softness of its nest. 
  Night follows day, day follows dawn,
  And so the time has come and gone: 
    And it’s weary, weary waiting, love.

  The cruel wind is rising
    With a whistle and a wail. 
  (And it’s weary, weary waiting, love.)
  My eyes are seaward straining
    For the coming of a sail;
  But void the sea, and void the beach
  Far and beyond where gaze can reach! 
    And it’s weary, weary waiting, love.