HOW MY SONG OF HER BEGAN

GOD made my lady lovely to behold,
Above the painter's dream he set her face,
And wrought her body in divinest grace;
He touch'd the brown hair with a sense of
gold;

And in the perfect form He did enfold
What was alone as perfect, the sweet heart;
Knowledge most rare to her He did impart ;
And fill'd with love and worship all her
days.

And then God thought Him how it would be well

To give her music; and to Love He said, Bring thou some minstrel now that he may tell

How fair and sweet a thing My hands have made."

Then at Love's call I came, bow'd down my head,

And at His will my lyre grew audible.

Do they know of the change that awaits them,

The sepulchre vast and strange?
Do they long for the days to go over,
And bring that miraculous change?

Or love they their night with no moonlight,
With no starlight, no dawn to its gloom?
Do they sigh: "'Neath the snow, or the
bloom

Of the wild things that wave from our night,

We are warm, through winter and summer;
We hear the winds rave, and we say :
'The storm-wind blows over our heads,
But we here are out of its way'"?

Do they think 't will be cold when the waters That they love not, that neither can love them,

Shall eternally thunder above them?
Have they dread of the sea's shining daugh-
ters,

That people the bright sea-regions
And play with the young sea-kings?
Have they dread of their cold embraces,
And dread of all strange sea-things?

But their dread or their joy, it is bootless: They shall pass from the breast of their mother;

They shall lie low, dead brother by brother,
In a place that is radiant and fruitless;
And the folk that sail over their heads
In violent weather

Shall come down to them, haply, and all
They shall lie there together.

GARDEN FAIRIES

KEEN was the air, the sky was very light, Soft with shed snow my garden was, and white,

And, walking there, I heard upon the night
Sudden sound of little voices,
Just the prettiest of noises.

It was the strangest, subtlest, sweetest sound :

It seem'd above me, seem'd upon the ground,

Then swiftly seem'd to eddy round and round,

Till I said: "To-night the air is
Surely full of garden fairies."

And all at once it seem'd I grew aware
That little, shining presences were there,
White shapes and red shapes danced upon
the air;

Then a peal of silver laughter,
And such singing followed after

As none of you, I think, have ever heard.
More soft it was than call of any bird,
Note after note, exquisitely deferr'd,

Soft as dew-drops when they settle
In a fair flower's open petal.

"What are these fairies?" to myself I said;

For answer, then, as from a garden's bed,
On the cold air a sudden scent was shed,
Scent of lilies, scent of roses,
Scent of Summer's sweetest posies.

And said a small, sweet voice within my ear: "We flowers, that sleep through winter, once a year

Are by our flower queen sent to visit here, That this fact may duly flout us, Gardens can look fair without us.

"A very little time we have to play,
Then must we go, oh, very far away,
And sleep again for many a long, long day,
Till the glad birds sing above us,
And the warm sun comes to love us.

"Hark what the roses sing now, as we go;"
Then very sweet and soft, and very low,
A dream of sound across the garden snow,
Came the chime of roses singing
To the lily-bell's faint ringing.

ROSES' SONG

"Softly sinking through the snow,
To our winter rest we go,
Underneath the snow to house
Till the birds be in the boughs,
And the boughs with leaves be fair,
And the sun shine everywhere.

REST here, at last,
The long way overpast;
Rest here, at home,

Thy race is run,

Thy dreary journey done, Thy last peak clomb.

"Twixt birth and death,
What days of bitter breath
Were thine, alas!

Thy soul had sight
To see by day, by night,
Strange phantoms pass.

Thy restless heart

In few glad things had part, But dwelt alone,

And night and day,

In the old way,

Made the old moan.

FROM "THE FOOL'S REVENGE "

THE JESTER AND HIS DAUGHTER SCENE. A room in the house of BERTUCCIO. [BERTUCCIO stands for a moment fondly contemplating FIORDELISA. He steps forward. Ber. My own!

Fio. [Turning suddenly, and flinging herself into his arms with a cry of joy.] My father! Ber. [Embracing her tenderly.] Closer, closer yet!

Let me feel those soft arms about my neck, This dear cheek on my heart! No-do not stir

It does me so much good! happy

These minutes are worth years!

Fio.

I am so

My own dear father!

Ber. Let me look at thee, darling

why, thou growest

Where I was rear'd, they us'd to call me orphan.

I thought I had no father, till you came. And then they needed not to say I had one; My own heart told me that.

Ber.

I often think

I had done well to have left thee there, in the peace

Of that still cloister. But it was too hard! My empty heart so hunger'd for my child, For those dear eyes that look no scorn for

me,

That voice that speaks respect and tenderness,

Even for me! - My flower

My only stay in life!

thee

lily

dove — my

O God! I thank

That thou hast left me this at least!

Fio.

You're crying now

[He weeps. Dear father!

you must not cry —

you must not I cannot bear to see you cry.