is jealous of the mute caress . . .

But who shall mourn thy death--ah, not the wise?
Better to perish in thy happiest hour,
To close in sight of beauty thy dark eyes,
And, dying so, be changed into a flower,
Than that the stealthy and relentless years
Should steal that grace which was thy only dower.

And bring thee in return dull cares and tears,
And difficult days and sickness and despair . . .
O, not for thee the griefs and sordid fears
That, like a burden, trembling age must bear;
Slain in thy youth, by the sweet hands of Love,
Thou shalt remain for ever young and fair . . .

Hylas

Dark boy, how radiantly you went to meet
Your mystic doom . . . what colours in the sky!
As though that cup of beauty the gods hold
Brimmed over on a world in ecstasy . . .
What silver flutes charmed all the forest ways . . .
How the green shimmered, jewelled thick with flowers,
And how the sun was like a globe of gold . . .
Yet you but thought to chase the perfect hours
Down that white road of wonder and delight,
The highway of your dreams, and heedlessly
You crushed the violets with your slim brown feet,
And whistled low, and sang a careless song . . .
Because your life was full of lovely days,
Because your life was delicate and sweet . . .
O youth and dawn . . . you dreamed not of the night . . .
O life and laughter . . . but the night is long . . .

Blue Flowers

I go to gather in the woods for you
The wild flowers that are blue . . .
Petals to match the colour of your eyes!

None but blue blossoms will I take, yet see
How sweetly tempting me
The fruit trees swing their scented treasuries.

And how the buttercups and daisies dance
To meet my dazzled glance!
But gold and silver, Sweet, are naught to you.

And so let others rob God's gardens . . . shake
The stars down for your sake--
I bring you but the wild flowers that are blue!

Madrigal

Rare garden where my heart goes gathering
Many a lovely and delightful thing,
Pale roses of your body and the fair
Unrivalled yellow blossoms of your hair!

Tall lilies of your gay and careless grace,
And O the wistful flower of your face!
And all the soft and starry mysteries
Of those divine forget-me-nots, your eyes . . .

O come, fair Love, before the flowers fade,
And bless this garden that the gods have made . . .
Rare garden where my heart goes gathering
Many a lovely and delightful thing . . .

Endymion

Your hair was like a