!
Until another hand
Brought spring into the land,
And went the seasons' pace.

And now, Dear Desk, thou knowest for how long time
I have no queen but song:
Yea, thou hast seen the last love fade, and now
Behold the last of many a secret rhyme!

A LIBRARY IN A GARDEN

'A Library in a garden! The phrase seems to contain the whole felicity
of man.'--Mr. EDMUND GOSSE in _Gossip in a Library_.

A world of books amid a world of green,
Sweet song without, sweet song again within
Flowers in the garden, in the folios too:
O happy Bookman, let me live with you!

ON THE MORALS OF POETS

One says he is immoral, and points out
Warm sin in ruddy specks upon his soul:
Bigot, one folly of the man you flout
Is more to God than thy lean life is whole.

FAERY GOLD

(TO MRS. PERCY DEARMER)

A poet hungered, as well he might--
Not a morsel since yesternight!
And sad he grew--good reason why--
For the poet had nought wherewith to buy.

'Are not two sparrows sold,' he cried,
'Sold for a farthing? and,' he sighed,
As he pushed his morning post away,
'Are not two sonnets more than they?'

Yet store of gold, great store had he,--
Of the gold that is known as 'faery.'
He had the gold of his burning dreams,
He had his golden rhymes--in reams,
He had the strings of his golden lyre,
And his own was that golden west on fire.

But the poet knew his world too well
To dream that such would buy or sell.
He had his poets, 'pure gold,' he said,
But the man at the bookstall shook his head,
And offered a grudging half-a-crown
For the five the poet had brought him down.

Ah, what a world we are in! we sigh,
Where a lunch costs more than a Keats can buy,
And even Shakespeare's hallowed line
Falls short of the requisite sum to dine.

Yet other gold had the poet got,
For see from that grey-blue Gouda pot
Three golden tulips spouting flame--
From his love, from his love, this morn, they came.
His love he loved even more than fame.

Three golden tulips thrice more fair
Than other golden tulips were--
'And yet,' he smiled as he took one up,
And feasted on its yellow cup,--
'I wonder how many eggs you'd buy!
By Bacchus, I've half a mind to try!
'One golden bloom for one golden yolk--
Nay, on my word, sir, I mean no joke--
Gold for gold is fair dealing, sir.'
Think of the grocer gaping there!

Or the baker, if I went and said,
--'This tulip for a loaf of bread,
God's beauty for your kneaded grain;'

Or the vintne