Above the circus of the world she sat,
Beautiful and base, a harlot crowned with pride:
Fierce nations, upon whom she sneered and spat,
Shrieked at her feet and for her pastime died.
ON READING THE LIFE OF HAROUN ER RESHID
Down all the lanterned Bagdad of our youth
He steals, with golden justice for the poor:
Within his palace—you shall know the truth!—
A blood-smeared headsman hides behind each door.
MNEMOSYNE
In classic beauty, cold, immaculate,
A voiceful sculpture, stern and still she stands,
Upon her brow deep-chiselled love and hate,
That sorrow o'er dead roses in her hands.
BEAUTY
High as a star, yet lowly as a flower,
Unknown she takes her unassuming place
At Earth's proud masquerade—the appointed hour
Strikes, and, behold! the marvel of her face.
THE STARS
These—the bright symbols of man's hope and fame,
In which he reads his blessing or his curse—
Are syllables with which God speaks his name
In the vast utterance of the universe.