DEAD MAGDALEN
Cover her over with pallid white roses,
Her who had none but red roses to wear;
All that her last grim lover bestows is
Virginal white for her bosom and hair.
Cover the folds of the glimmering sheet
Clear from her eyelids weary and sweet
Down to her nevermore wayward feet.
Then They may find her fair.
Lovingly, tenderly, let us array her
Fair as a bride for the way she must go,
Leaving no lingering stain to betray her,
Letting them see we have sullied her so.
Over the curve of the fair young breast
Leave we this maidenly lily to rest
White as the snow in its snow-soft nest.
Now They will never know.
THE ADVENTURER
He came not in the red dawn
Nor in the blaze of noon,
And all the long bright highway
Lay lonely to the moon,
And nevermore, we know now,
Will he come wandering down
The breezy hollows of the hills
That gird the quiet town.
For he has heard a voice cry
A starry-faint "Ahoy!"
Far up the wind, and followed
Unquestioning after joy.
But we are long forgetting
The quiet way he went,
With looks of love and gentle scorn
So sweetly, subtly blent.