For one hath heard the dryad's sighs
Behind the covering bark;
And one hath felt the satyr's eyes
Gleam in the bosky dark;
And one hath seen the naiad rise
In waters all a-spark.
I bend my soul unto them, stilled
In worship man hath lost;
The old-world myths that science killed
Are living things almost
To me through these whose forms are filled
With Beauty's pagan ghost.
And through new eyes I seem to see
The world these live within,—
A shuttered world of mystery,
Where unreal forms begin
The real of ideality
That has no unreal kin.
DEAD SEA FRUIT
All things have power to hold us back.
Our very hopes build up a wall
Of doubt, whose shadow stretches black
O'er all.
The dreams, that helped us once, become
Dread disappointments, that oppose
Dead eyes to ours, and lips made dumb
With woes.
The thoughts that opened doors before
Within the mind's house, hide away;
Discouragement hath locked each door
For aye.
Come, loss, more frequently than gain!
And failure than success! until
The spirit's struggle to attain
Is still!