Ye mourners, weave for the sleeping hair Of only two your ivy vine. For one was wise and one was fair, But one was mine.
AMONG SHADOWS
In halls of sleep you wandered by, This time so indistinguishably I cannot remember aught of it, Save that I know last night we met. I know it by the cloudy thrill That in my heart is quivering still; And sense of loveliness forgot Teases my fancy out of thought. Though with the night the vision wanes Its haunting presence still may last— As odour of flowers faint remains In halls where late a queen has passed.
A WATTEAU MELODY
Oh, let me take your lily hand, And where the secret star-beams shine Draw near, to see and understand Pierrot and Columbine.
Around the fountains, in the dew, Where afternoon melts into night, With gracious mirth their gracious crew Entice the shy birds of delight.
Of motley dress and maskèd face, Of sparkling unrevealing eyes, They track in gentle aimless chase The moment as it flies.
Their delicate beribboned rout, Gallant and fair, of light intent, Weaves through the shadows in and out With infinite artful merriment.
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