hrough open windows and from stair to stair,
Went women's voices, calling each to each,
And in the cramped and crowded little square,
The ancient hush of soft and tender speech.

For all the lack of green things coming in,
That magic that was marbles in the street,
That swept the stairs, and moved the tops to spin,
Was wine and music, potent still and sweet,
As when it swayed those graceful girls of Troy,
And set to dreaming many a Trojan boy.

FOR A SEQUESTERED LADY

Roses, roses at her door,
Roses bringing something more
Than one Summer to her door,--
Beauty, beauty evermore.

Roses that were Guinivere
In a far-off golden year,
Hair that blinded like the sun,
Hands that never would have done
With the white spells that they wrought,
Till a city came to naught,--
Hands and hair and hearts, at last,
Dust! Till now, their slumbers past,
Roses bloom about her door,
Beauty, beauty evermore....
Trojan maidens who had been
Still, white faces through the din
Of those chariots gone by,
Stars above a troubled sky--
Beauty passing to re-pass,
Pearl-white feet across the grass,
Crowns of beauty that they wore
Given to the dust for more
Roses, roses at her door....
All old tales of beauty dead,
Hands and hair and lifted head,
Gone from cities long forgot:
Rimini and Camelot,
Lovers who had been like light,
Summertime and dream ... and Night ...
Now, their night of sleeping gone,
Roses rise above the lawn.

Roses, roses at her door,
Roses bringing something more
Than one Summer to her door ...
Beauty, beauty evermore.

HERITAGE

All purged, at last, are glories in the dust,--
Those temples that were worship for a day.
The gallant banners of a people's trust,
And hands and lips--and Aprils brief as they.
Beyond their lighted moment in the sun,
They bore away their splendours and their stains;
Now they are dust, the cleansing ritual done,
And only their dim holiness remains.

Since I am somehow fashioned out of these,
The quickened dust of city, saint and grass,
Of holy altars and old mysteries,--
Let me be mindful of them where I pass,
Dishonouring not this garment among men,
Lest I be shamed when I am dust again.

"SHIPPING NEWS"

(_A Maritime Paper_)

Here is the record of their