Such a hand as Beauty
Uses with full heart,
Seeking for her freedom
In new shapes of art;
Soft as rain in April,
Quiet as the days
Of the purple asters
And the autumn haze;
With a soul more subtle
Than the light of stars,
Frailer than a moth's wing
To the touch that mars;
Wise with all the silence
Of the waiting hills,
When the gracious twilight
Wakes in them and thrills;
With a voice more tender
Than the early moon
Hears among the thrushes
In the woods of June;
Delicate as grasses
When they lift and stir—
One sweet lyric woman—
I give thanks for her.
The Enchanted Traveller
We travelled empty-handed
With hearts all fear above,
For we ate the bread of friendship,
We drank the wine of love.
Through many a wondrous autumn,
Through many a magic spring,
We hailed the scarlet banners,
We heard the blue-bird sing.