THE MYSTERY
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The gos'mer web that mistifies, Lies not on any whole or part, Or stop or start, but in the art, Men hang upon their eyes. And haply in an age afar, Two men may see the self-same mote— The selfsame beam, with motes afloat, And learn what souls and systems are. |
FAME
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Triumphant Day's grand pageantry At song, and all the garlands won, Far in the west the queenly Eve, Blue misty mantled, takes her leave, Tiaraed with a Sun. And Lo! Sweet night, a nut-brown maid, With silent wonder pursing lips, Or humming soft a bird's low song, Trips down the hall. Behold the throng Bow to her finger tips. |
GOOD NIGHT MY LOVE
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Thy dewy dreams, thine Ariel dreams, Then turn thee to thy dainty dreams, Thine airy shell is now alight, To bear thee down Æolean streams, Good night, my love, good night, good night. By misty strands of phantom lands, By golden shores and phantom lands, Across the sea of starry light To drop thee on enchanted strands— Good night, my love, good night, good night. Afar from me and there with thee, Ah! could I journey there with thee, Across the sea of starry light; But nay, 'tis thine own journey's sea— Good night, my love, good night, good night. But golden Morn must sound her horn, And when the morning's triton horn Is heralding thy homing flight, I'll meet thee on the shores of morn,— Good night, my love, good night, good night. |