When the white flame in us is gone,

And we that lost the world's delight

Stiffen in darkness, left alone

To crumble in our separate night;

When your swift hair is quiet in death,

And through the lips corruption thrust

Has stilled the labour of my breath—

When we are dust, when we are dust!—

Not dead, not undesirous yet,

Still sentient, still unsatisfied,

We'll ride the air, and shine, and flit,

Around the places where we died,

And dance as dust before the sun,

And light of foot, and unconfined,

Hurry from road to road, and run

About the errands of the wind.

And every mote, on earth or air,

Will speed and gleam, down later days,

And like a secret pilgrim fare

By eager and invisible ways,

Nor ever rest, nor ever lie,

Till, beyond thinking, out of view,

One mote of all the dust that's I

Shall meet one atom that was you.

Then in some garden hushed from wind,

Warm in a sunset's afterglow,

The lovers in the flowers will find

A sweet and strange unquiet grow

Upon the peace; and, past desiring,

So high a beauty in the air,

And such a light, and such a quiring,

And such a radiant ecstasy there,

They'll know not if it's fire, or dew,

Or out of earth, or in the height,

Singing, or flame, or scent, or hue,

Or two that pass, in light, to light,

Out of the garden, higher, higher...

But in that instant they shall learn

The shattering ecstasy of our fire,

And the weak passionless hearts will burn

And faint in that amazing glow,

Until the darkness close above;

And they will know—poor fools, they'll know!—

One moment, what it is to love.

Song

"Oh! Love," they said, "is King of Kings,

And Triumph is his crown.

Earth fades in flame before his wings,

And Sun and Moon bow down."—

But that, I knew, would never do;

And Heaven is all too high.

So whenever I meet a Queen, I said,

I will not catch her eye.

"Oh! Love," they said, and "Love," they said,

"The gift of Love is this;

A crown of thorns about thy head,

And vinegar to thy kiss!"—

But Tragedy is not for me;

And I'm content to be gay.

So whenever I spied a Tragic Lady,

I went another way.

And so I never feared to see

You wander down the street,

Or come across the fields to me

On ordinary feet.

For what they'd never told me of,

And what I never knew,

It was that all the time, my love,

Love would be merely you.

Kindliness

When love has changed to kindliness—

Oh, love, our hungry lips, that press

So tight that Time's an old god's dream

Nodding in heaven, and whisper stuff

Seven million years were not enough

To think on after, make it seem

Less than the breath of children playing,

A blasphemy scarce worth the saying,

A sorry jest, "When love has grown

To kindliness—to kindliness!" ...

And yet—the best that either's known

Will change, and wither, and be less,

At last, than comfort, or its own

Remembrance. And when some caress

Tendered in habit (once a flame

All heaven sang out to) wakes the shame

Unworded, in the steady eyes

We'll have,—that day, what shall we do?

Being so noble, kill the two

Who've reached their second-best? Being wise,

Break cleanly off, and get away,

Follow down other windier skies

New lures, alone? Or shall we stay,

Since this is all we've known, content

In the lean twilight of such day,

And not remember, not lament?

That time when all is over, and

Hand never flinches, brushing hand;

And blood lies quiet, for all you're near;

And it's but spoken words we hear,

Where trumpets sang; when the mere skies

Are stranger and nobler than your eyes;

And flesh is flesh, was flame before;

And infinite hungers leap no more

In the chance swaying of your dress;

And love has changed to kindliness.

The Voice

Safe in the magic of my woods

I lay, and watched the dying light.

Faint in the pale high solitudes,

And washed with rain and veiled by night,

Silver and blue and green were showing.

And the dark woods grew darker still;

And birds were hushed; and peace was growing;

And quietness crept up the hill;

And no wind was blowing ...

And I knew

That this was the hour of knowing,

And the night and the woods and you

Were one together, and I should find

Soon in the silence the hidden key

Of all that had hurt and puzzled me—

Why you were you, and the night was kind,

And the woods were part of the heart of me.

And there I waited breathlessly,

Alone; and slowly the holy three,

The three that I loved, together grew

One, in the hour of knowing,

Night, and the woods, and you——

And suddenly

There was an uproar in my woods,

The noise of a fool in mock distress,

Crashing and laughing and blindly going,

Of ignorant feet and a swishing dress,

And a Voice profaning the solitudes.

The spell was broken, the key denied me.

And at length your flat clear voice beside me

Mouthed cheerful clear flat platitudes.

You came and quacked beside me in the wood.

You said, "The view from here is very good!"

You said, "It's nice to be alone a bit!"

And, "How the days are drawing out!" you said.

You said, "The sunset's pretty, isn't it?"

* * * * *

By God! I wish—I wish that you were dead!

Menelaus and Helen

I

Hot through Troy's ruin Menelaus broke

To Priam's palace, sword in hand, to sate

On that adulterous whore a ten years' hate

And a king's honour. Through red death, and smoke,

And cries, and then by quieter ways he strode,

Till the still innermost chamber fronted him.

He swung his sword, and crashed into the dim

Luxurious bower, flaming like a god.

High sat white Helen, lonely and serene.

He had not remembered that she was so fair,

And that her neck curved down in such a way;

And he felt tired. He flung the sword away,

And kissed her feet, and knelt before her there,

The perfect Knight before the perfect Queen.