MOONFLOWERS
These frail, white blooms have lit the Summer night
Like ghosts of beauty that had gone too soon,—
With something less than any glimmering light
That sways and faints and trembles in the moon.
I think the Earth, grown half-regretful, now,
Of faces that were lovely of old time,
Lifts here again dim hands and hair and brow,
In loveliness more fragile than a rhyme.
So that the listening night has somehow learned
A way of prescient waiting through the dark,
For half-forgotten loveliness returned,—
Too frail and dim for eyes like ours to mark
More than a ghostly glimmer on the air,
That once was lighted brows and hands and hair.
CHALLENGE
The Spring has crowned the startled grass with light,
And lit each apple-tree with blooms of May,
Her footprints flowering through the silent night,
Show where she went her hurried, careless way ...
A magic that awakens and goes by,
Too care-free to be bound, too fickle-fleet,
Leaves helpless legions staring at the sky,
Confronted with a later, sure defeat.
A bird, half-hid among the apple boughs,
Sings and sings on above the blossoming earth,
A high, clear music of eternal vows
To transient joy ... and joy's eternal worth ...
Above the certain wreck, this dauntless thing,
Caught up and hurled from ruined Spring to Spring.