Thus, then, these two small birds, perched there,
Breathed a strange riddle both did share
Yet neither could expound. 
And we—­who sing but as we can,
In the small knowledge of a man—­
Have we an answer found? 
Nay, some are happy whose delight
Is hid even from themselves from sight;
And some win peace who spend
The skill of words to sweeten despair
Of finding consolation where
Life has but one dark end;
Who, in rapt solitude, tell o’er
A tale as lovely as forlore,
Into the midnight air.

MOONLIGHT

The far moon maketh lovers wise
  In her pale beauty trembling down,
Lending curved cheeks, dark lips, dark eyes,
  A strangeness not her own. 
And, though they shut their lids to kiss,
  In starless darkness peace to win,
Even on that secret world from this
  Her twilight enters in.

THE BLIND BOY

“I have no master,” said the Blind Boy,
  “My mother, ‘Dame Venus’ they do call;
Cowled in this hood she sent me begging
  For whate’er in pity may befall.

“Hard was her visage, me adjuring,—­
  ’Have no fond mercy on the kind! 
Here be sharp arrows, bunched in quiver,
  Draw close ere striking—­thou art blind.’

“So stand I here, my woes entreating,
  In this dark alley, lest the Moon
Point with her sparkling my barbed armoury
  Shine on my silver-laced shoon.

“Oh, sir, unkind this Dame to me-ward;
  Of the salt billow was her birth ... 
In your sweet charity draw nearer
  The saddest rogue on Earth!”

THE QUARRY

You hunted me with all the pack,
  Too blind, too blind, to see
By no wild hope of force or greed
  Could you make sure of me.

And like a phantom through the glades,
  With tender breast aglow,
The goddess in me laughed to hear
  Your horns a-roving go.

She laughed to think no mortal ever
  By dint of mortal flesh
The very Cause that was the Hunt
  One moment could enmesh: 

That though with captive limbs I lay,
  Stilled breath and vanquished eyes,
He that hunts Love with horse and hound
  Hunts out his heart and eyes.

MRS. GRUNDY

“Step very softly, sweet Quiet-foot,
Stumble not, whisper not, smile not: 
By this dark ivy stoop cheek and brow. 
Still even thy heart!  What seest thou?...”

“High-coifed, broad-browed, aged, suave yet grim,
A large flat face, eyes keenly dim,
Staring at nothing—­that’s me!—­and yet,
With a hate one could never, no, never forget ...”

“This is my world, my garden, my home,
Hither my father bade mother to come
And bear me out of the dark into light,
And happy I was in her tender sight.