MELMILLO
Three and thirty birds there stood
In an elder in a wood;
Called Melmillo—flew off three,
Leaving thirty in a tree;
Called Melmillo—nine now gone,
And the boughs held twenty-one;
Called Melmillo—eighteen
Left but three to nod and preen;
Called Melmillo—three—two—one—
Now of birds were feathers none.
Then stole slim Melmillo in
To that wood all dusk and green,
And with lean long palms outspread
Softly a strange dance did tread;
Not a note of music she
Had for echoing company;
All the birds were flown to rest
In the hollow of her breast;
In the wood thorn, elder, willow—
Danced alone—lone danced Melmillo.
THE QUIET ENEMY
Hearken! now the hermit bee
Drones a quiet threnody;
Greening on the stagnant pool
The criss-cross light is beautiful;
In the venomed yew tree wings
Preen and flit. The linnet sings.
Gradually the brave sun
Sinks to a day's journey done;
In the marshy flats abide
Mists to muffle midnight-tide.
Puffed within the belfry tower
Hungry owls drowse out their hour....