honey-coloured flame
Seen through a veil of silver when you came
And took me in your arms that winter night . . .
The moonlight, amorous of your golden hair,
Toyed with it softly, as a woman might
With some bright treasure, delicate and rare.

O, young Endymion, risen from the dead,
Born once again to beauty, O bright head!
The moon stoops low to kiss you, as of old;
Stoops graciously from her great throne of pearl,
With outstretched arms mysterious and cold . . .
But you have left her for a mortal girl.

Dance Song

O hide your passion from the moon.
When young and slender she appears
In shining gown and silver shoon . . .
And, all her path with stars impearled,
She dances round the darkened world.

O hide your sorrows from the sun . . .
The sun should never see your tears!
Weep, if you will, when day is done . . .
But laugh and sing and clap your hands
While yet the sun in heaven stands.

A Memory

O how I loved you when we met
For that one moment of the day!
Yes, loved you desperately, and yet
Could scarcely find a word to say--
No wonder that you looked and smiled
As though upon some timid child.
You never guessed, how could you guess
That I adored your loveliness!

You never saw the prisoned soul
Behind the windows of my eyes,
Frantic to break from fate's control
And charm you with her flatteries . . .
And show you, your cold heart to move,
The shining treasure of her love,
And worship in a long embrace,
The reckless beauty of your face!

You never knew . . . and the dream died
A broken rose beneath your feet . . .
You went your way . . . the world is wide
And I forgot, for youth is sweet . . .
Yet when at night I lie awake,
My heart is sad for a dream's sake,
And I remember and regret . . .
O how I loved you when we met!

The Photograph

O Beauty, what is this?
A shadow of your face . . .
Where is the wild flower grace
That Love is wont to kiss?

Where is the bird that brings
To your untroubled eyes
The blue of fairy skies,
The flash of fairy wings? . . .

O wild bird of delight,
That no white hand may hold,
Or fairest cage of gold . . .
For who would stay its flight?

The song-bird of your voice
Whose magic song Love hears,
Trembling behind your tears,
Trilling when you rejoice . . .

O Beauty, what is this?
The shadow of a rose . . .
A little ghost that goes
Oblivious of Love's kiss.

Only a shadow . . . yet
It may, in some dark hour
Recal