WALKING AT EVE
Walking at eve I met a little child
Running beside a tragic-featured dame,
Who checked his blitheness with a quick "For shame!"
And seemed by sharp caprice froward and mild.
Scarce heeding her the sweet one ran, beguiled
By the lit street, and his eyes too aflame;
Only, at whiles, into his eyes there came
Bewilderment and grief with terror wild.
So, Beauty, dost thou run with tragic life;
So, with the curious world's caress enchanted,
Even of ill things thine ecstasy dost make;
Yet at the touch of fear and vital strife
The splendours thy young innocency forsake,
And with thy foster-mother's woe thou art haunted.
THE PHYSICIAN
She comes when I am grieving and doth say,
"Child, here is that shall drive your grief away."
When I am hopeless, kisses me and stirs
My breast with the strong lively courage of hers.
Proud—she will humble me with but a word,
Or with mild mockery at my folly gird;
Fickle—she holds me with her loyal eyes;
Remorseful—tells of neighbouring Paradise;
Envious—"Be not so mad, so mad," she saith,
"Envied and envier both race with Death"
She my good Angel is: and who is she?—
The soul's divine Physician, Memory.