Deep in baby Mary’s eyes,
Baby Mary’s sweet blue eyes,
Dwell the golden memories
Of the music once her ears
Heard in far-off Paradise:
So she has no time for tears,—
Baby Mary,—
Listening to the songs she hears.
Soft in baby Mary’s face,
Baby Mary’s lovely face,
If you watch, you, too, may trace
Dreams her spirit-self hath seen
In some far-off Eden-place,
Whence her soul she can not wean,—
Baby Mary,—
Dreaming in a world between.
A SUNSET FANCY
Wide in the west a lake
Of flame that seems to shake
As if the Midgard snake
Deep down did breathe:
An isle of purple glow,
Where rosy rivers flow
Down peaks of cloudy snow
With fire beneath.
And there the Tower-of-Night,
With windows all a-light,
Frowns on a burning height,
Wherein she sleeps,—
Young through the years of doom,—
Veiled with her hair’s gold gloom,
She, the Valkyrie, whom
Enchantment keeps.
THE FEN-FIRE
The misty rain makes dim my face,
The night’s black cloak is o’er me;
I tread the dripping cypress-place,
A flickering light before me.
Out of the death of leaves that rot
And ooze and weedy water,
My form was breathed to haunt this spot,
Death’s immaterial daughter.