Thick dappled by circles of sunshine and fluttering shade.
Your bright, naked body advances, blown over by leaves,
Half-quenched in their various green, just a point of you showing,
A knee or a thigh, sudden glimpsed, then at once blotted into
The filmy and flickering forest, to start out again
Triumphant in smooth, supple roundness, edged sharp as white ivory,
Cool, perfect, with rose rarely tinting your lips and your breasts,
Swelling out from the green in the opulent curves of ripe fruit,
And hidden, like fruit, by the swift intermittence of leaves.
So, clinging to branches and moss, you advance on the ledges
Of rock which hang over the stream, with the wood-smells about you,
The pungence of strawberry plants and of gum-oozing spruces,
While below runs the water impatient, impatient to take you,
To splash you, to run down your sides, to sing you of deepness,
Of pools brown and golden, with brown-and-gold flags on their borders,
Of blue, lingering skies floating solemnly over your beauty,
Of undulant waters a-sway in the effort to hold you
To keep you submerged and quiescent while over you glories
The summer.
Oread, Dryad, or Naiad, or just
Woman, clad only in youth and in gallant perfection,
Standing up in a great burst of sunshine, you dazzle my eyes
Like a snow-star, a moon, your effulgence burns up in a halo,
For you are the chalice which holds all the races of men.
You slip into the pool and the water folds over your shoulder,
And over the tree-tops the clouds slowly follow
your swimming, To behold the way they act.
And the scent of the woods is sweet on this hot summer morning.

AMY LOWELL

LEPRECHAUNS AND CLURICAUNS

Over where the Irish hedges
Are with blossoms white as snow,
Over where the limestone ledges
Through the soft green grasses show—
There the fairies may be seen
In their jackets of red and green,
Leprechauns and cluricauns,
And the other ones, I ween.
And, bedad, it is a wonder
To behold the way they act.
They’re the lads that seldom blunder,
Wise and wary, that’s the fact.
You may hold them with your eye;
Look away and off they fly;
Leprechauns and cluricauns,
Bedad, but they are sly!
They have heaps of golden treasure
Hid away within the ground,
Where they spend their days in leisure,
And where fairy joys abound;
But to mortals not a guinea
Will they give-no, not a penny.
Leprechauns and cluricauns,
Their gold is seldom found.
Maybe of a morning early
As you pass a lonely rath,
You may see a little curly—
Headed fairy in your path.
He’ll be working at a shoe,
But he’ll have his eye on you—
Leprechauns and cluricauns,
They know just what to do.
Visions of a life of riches
Surely will before you flash;
(You’ll no longer dig the ditches,
You’ll be well supplied with cash.)
And you’ll seize the little man,
And you’ll hold him—if you can;
Leprechauns and cluricauns,
’Tis they’re the slipp’ry clan!

DENIS A. MCCARTHY

L’ENVOI

When the time for parting comes, and the day is on the wane,
And the silent evening darkens over hill and over plain,
And earth holds no more sorrow, no more grief, and no more pain,
Shall we weary for the battle and the strife?
When at last the trail is ending, and the stars are growing near,
And we breathe the breath of conquest, and the voices that we hear
Are the great companions’ voices that have hallowed year on year,
Shall we know an instant’s grieving as we pass?
Shall we pause a fleeting moment ere we grasp the eager hands,
Take one last long look of wonder at the dimming of the lands,
Love the earth one glowing moment ere we pass from its demands,
Cull all beauty in its essence as we gaze?
Or with not one backward longing shall we leap the last abyss,
Scale the highest crags glad-hearted, fearful only lest the bliss
Of an earth-remembering instant should delay the great sun’s kiss—
Consuming us within the flame?

DOROTHEA LAWRENCE MANN

TO IMAGINATION
SUGGESTED BY MAXFIELD PARRISH’S “AIR CASTLES”

O beauteous boy a-dream, what visions sought
Of pictures magical thy eyes unfold,
What triumphs of celestial wonders wrought,
What marvels from a breath of beauty rolled!
Skyward and seaward on the clouds are scrolled,
A mystic imagery of castled thought,
A thousand worlds to lose,—or win and mould—
A radiant iridescence swiftly caught
Of ever-changing glory, fancy-fraught.
Blue wonder of the sea and luminous sky,
A thousand wonders in thy dreamlit face,—
Eyes that behold afar the turrets high
Of Ilium, and the transient mortal grace
Of Deirdre’s sadness, all the conquering race
Of Athens,—eyes that saw Eden’s beauty lie
In passionate adoration—visions trace
Across the tender brooding of the sigh
That wrecked a city and made chieftains die.
Forward not backward turns the mystic shine
Of those far-seeing orbs that track the gleam—
The fleecy marvel of the cloud is line
On line the wizard tracery of a dream.
O lad, who buildest not of things that seem,
Beyond what bounds of visioning divine
Came that far smile, from what long-strayed sun-beam
Caught thou the radiance, from what fostering vine
The power to build and mould the deep design?
Knowest thou the secret that thy brush would tell,
Is all the dream a bubbled splendor white,
Beyond those castles cloud-bound, does there dwell
The eternal silence of the dark—or light?
Will thy hand hold the pen which shall indict
The symboled mystery-write the final knell
Of rainbow fancy-is the distant sight
A nothingless encircled by a spell
Of gleaming bubbles wrought of beauty’s shell?
In vain to question, where the mystery
Of Youth’s short golden dream is lord and king.
The eyes that farthest gaze in ecstasy,
Were never meant to paint the immortal thing
They see, nor understand the joy they bring.
The misty baubles of the sky and sea
Sail on. Dream still, bright-visioned boy, and fling
The glittering mantle of thy thoughts that flee,
Weaving us evermore thy shining pageantry.