O delicate Youth, thy praises shall be sung
While yet my heart is young . . .
Thy whiteness, and thy brightness, and the sweet
Flushed softness of thy little restless feet . . .
The tossed and sunny tangle of thy hair,
Thy swiftness, slimness, shyness, simpleness,
That set the old folk sighing for the rare
Red rose of Joy thy careless days possess.
. . . And when at last, with sad, indifferent face,
I walk in narrow pathways patiently;
Forgetful of thy beauty, and thy truth,
Thy ringing laughter, thy rebellious grace . . .
When fair Love turns his face away from me . . .
Then, let me die, O delicate sweet Youth!
Opal Song
Shy and wild . . . shy and wild
To my lovers I have been.
Frank and wayward as a child,
Strange and secret as a queen;
Fain of love, and love beguiled,
Yet afraid of love, I ween!
False and true . . . false and true
Is the woman's heart in me . . .
Fair lost faces that I rue,
Golden friends I laugh to see,
Changing, I come back to you,
Never doubt my loyalty!
Gifts
Come near! you are my friend and I will wear
Gems for your sake, and flowers in my hair;
Garments of silver gauze, and cloth of gold . . .
And I will give you power to have and hold,
And passion, and delight and ecstasy.
What will you give to me?
And I will give you, if you will but stay,
The magic mirror of the dawn, where day
Waking, beholds the wonder of her face—
If you will keep me yet in your embrace,
And let me dream of Love's eternity.
What will you give to me?