ears and fire
That glare me o'er and o'er--
I look into its eyeballs,
And know myself once more.

VI.

I have looked in the eyes of poesy,
And sat in song's high place;
And the beautiful spirits of music
Have spoken me face to face;
Yet here in my soul there is sorrow
They never can name nor trace.

I have walked with the glamour gladness,
And dreamed with the shadow sleep;
And the presences, love and knowledge,
Have smiled in my heart's red keep;
Yet here in my soul there is sorrow
For the depth of their gaze too deep.

The love and the hope God grants me,
The beauty that lures me on,
And the dreams of folly and wisdom
That thoughts of the spirit don,
Are but masks of an ancient sorrow
Of a life long dead and gone.

Was it sin? or a crime forgotten?
Of a love that loved too well?
That sat on a throne of fire
A thousand years in hell?
That the soul with its nameless sorrow
Remembers but can not tell?

TWO.

With her soft face half turned to me,
Like an arrested moonbeam, she
Stood in the cirque of that deep tree.

I took her by the hands; she raised
Her face to mine; and, half amazed,
Remembered; and we stood and gazed.

How good to kiss her throat and hair,
And say no word!--Her throat was bare;
As some moon-fungus white and fair.

Had God not giv'n us life for this?
The world-old, amorous happiness
Of arms that clasp, and lips that kiss!

The eloquence of limbs and arms!
The rhetoric of breasts, whose charms
Say to the sluggish blood what warms!

Had God or Fiend assigned this hour
That bloomed,--where love had all of power,--
The senses' aphrodisiac flower?

The dawn was far away. Nude night
Hung savage stars of sultry white
Around her bosom's Ethiop light.

Night! night, who gave us each to each,
Where heart with heart could hold sweet speech,
With life's best gift within our reach.

And here it was--between the goals
Of flesh and spirit, sex controls--
Took place the marriage of our souls.

TONES.

I.

A woman, fair to look upon,
Where waters whiten with the moon;
While down the glimmer of the lawn
The white moths swoon.

A mouth of music; eyes of love;
And hands of blended snow and scent,
That touch the pearl-pale shadow of
An instrument.

And low and sweet that song of sleep
After the song of love is hushed;
While al