they in weal and woe
Adown the lanes of Old Romance!

But now the vast years intervene,
The fountain long has ceased its flow,
And silence rules the lone demesne
That once held such a goodly show;
Yet time, at least, does this bestow
Nor leave the best to fleeting chance--
They live again in fancy's glow
Adown the lanes of Old Romance.

ENVOY

Sweet, still for us some blossoms grow
From out that dim and dear expanse--
Come, take my hand and we shall go
Adown the lanes of Old Romance!

A Voice From the Far Away

I heard a voice from the far away
Softly say this to me--
"You will find the heart of the world some day
And the why of the things that be;
You will see the grief of the yea and nay
And the price of frailty.

"And upon your lute you will weave a theme
Which the world will harken and know;
For every note of the song will teem
With a great soul's overflow--
You will speak the meaning within a dream
And the pain in the afterglow.

"But for all of this there's a price--
'Tis the price of minstrelsy--
You will never have of the things you play,
Sad singer of poetry,
And throughout your life you will go for aye,
Heart-hungry and silently!"
I heard a voice from the far away
Softly say this to me.

April

Throughout the vale again Narcissus cries
And Echo answers from her dark retreat,
While Zephyr heavy-laden with the sweet,
Fresh scent of blooms across the pasture hies;
Above, the blueness of the April skies,
Matched by the lure unto the wandering feet
That e'er must go ere Spring could be complete
To the green wood where laughing Eros lies.

O April lover, hear the pipes that call,
The pipes of Pan a-blowing lustily,
They call to you and me, and he who hears
Must ever after be Young April's thrall--
So, faring thus together, we shall see
The Islands of the Blest between the Spheres!

A Yesterday

I held you in my arms--so happy I,
Who quite forgot the while that moments fly;
Nor ever dreamed that they could pass away,
Till it was yesterday.

Yet, just because that hour was long ago
And seems to me so near--well, this I know
That sometime I shall clasp your hand and say:
Was there a yesterday?

Violets

'Twas just at sundown, when the leaves were wet