Singers, not so this craven life of ours,
Our honey out of bitter herbs is blent;
The songs that fall as soft as April showers
Came of the whips and scorns of chastisement,
From smitten lips and hearts in sorrow bent,
Distilled of blood and wormwood are they all--
Idly you heard, indifferent what they meant:
Poets must make their honey out of gall.

You lords and ladies sitting high in towers,
Scarcely attending the sweet instrument
That lulls you 'mid your cruel careless hours,
Melodious minister of your content;
Think you this music was from Heaven sent?
Nay, Hell hath made it thus so musical.
And to its making thorns and nettles went--
Poets must make their honey out of gall.

ENVOI

Prince of this world, enthroned and insolent,
Beware, lest with a song your towers fall,
Your pride sent blazing up the firmament--
Poets must make their honey out of gall.

BALLADE OF RUNNING AWAY WITH LIFE

O ships upon the sea, O shapes of air,
O lands whose names are made of spice and tar,
Old painted empires that are ever fair,
From Cochin-China down to Zanzibar!
O Beauty simple, soul-less, and bizarre!
I would take Danger for my bosom-wife,
And light our bed with some wild tropic star--
O how I long to run away with Life!

To run together, Life and I! What care
Ours if from Duty we may run so far
As to forget the daily mounting stair,
The roaring subway and the clanging car,
The stock that ne'er again shall be at par,
The silly speed, the city's stink and strife,
The faces that to look on leaves a scar:
O how I long to run away with Life!

Fling up the sail--all sail that she can bear,
And out across the little frightened bar
Into the fearless seas alone with her,
The great sail humming to the straining spar,
Curved as Love's breast, and white as nenuphar,
The spring wind singing like a happy fife,
The keen prow cutting like a scimitar:
O how I long to run away with Life!

ENVOI

Princess, the gates of Heaven are ajar,
Cut we our bonds with Freedom's gleaming knife,--
Lo! where Delight and all the Dancers are!
O how I long to run away with Life!

_TO A CONTEMNER OF THE PAST_

_You that would break with the Past,
Why with so rude a gesture take your leave?
None hinders, go your way; but wherefore cast
Contempt and boorish scorn