ude
Where all things merge.

The sun, the rain-wind, and the rain,
The visiting moon,
The hurrying cloud by peak and plain,
Each with its boon.

Here power attains perfection still
In mighty ease,
That the great earth may have her will
Of joy and peace.

And so through me, the mortal born
Of plasmic clay,
Immortal powers, kind, fierce, forlorn,
And glad, have sway.

Eternal passions, ardors fine,
And monstrous fears,
Rule and rebel, serene, malign,
Or loosed in tears;

Until at last they shall evolve
From griefs and joys
Some steady light, some firm resolve,
Some Godlike poise.

At Sunrise

Now the stars have faded
In the purple chill,
Lo, the sun is kindling
On the eastern hill.

Tree by tree the forest
Takes the golden tinge,
As the shafts of glory
Pierce the summit's fringe.

Rock by rock the ledges
Take the rosy sheen,
As the tide of splendor
Floods the dark ravine.

Like a shining angel
At my cabin door,
Shod with hope and silence,
Day is come once more.

Then, as if in sorrow
That you are not here,
All his magic beauties
Gray and disappear.

At Twilight

Now the fire is lighted
On the chimney stone,
Day goes down the valley,
I am left alone.

Now the misty purple
Floods the darkened vale,
And the stars come out
On the twilight trail.

The mountain river murmurs
In his rocky bed,
And the stealthy shadows
Fill the house with dread.

Then I hear your laughter
At the open door,--
Brightly burns the fire,
I need fear no more.

Moonrise

At the end of the road through the wood
I see the great moon rise.
The fields are flooded with shine,
And my soul with surmise.

What if that mystic orb
With her shadowy beams,
Should be the revealer at last
Of my darkest dreams!

What if this tender fire
In my heart's deep hold
Should be wiser than all the lore
Of the sages of old!

The Queen of Night

Mortal, mortal, have you seen
In the scented summer night,
Great Astarte, clad in green
With a veil of mystic light,
Passing on her silent way,
Pale and lovelier than day?

Mortal, mortal, have you heard,
On an odorous summer eve,
Rumors of an unknown word
Bidding sorrow not to grieve,--
Echoes of a silver voice
Bidding every heart rejoice?

Mortal, when the slim new moon