And half the lion’s tenderness
    To shield her cubs from hurt or death,
    Which, when the serried hunters press,
    Makes terrible her wounded breath.

    But when the lips I breathed upon
    Asked for such love as equals claim
    I looked where all the stars were gone
    Burned in the day’s immortal flame.

    ’Come thou like yon great dawn to me
    From darkness vanquished, battles done: 
    Flame unto flame shall flow and be
    Within thy heart and mine as one.’

PARTING

    As from our dream we died away
    Far off I felt the outer things;
    Your wind-blown tresses round me play,
    Your bosom’s gentle murmurings.

    And far away our faces met
    As on the verge of the vast spheres;
    And in the night our cheeks were wet,
    I could not say with dew or tears.

    As one within the Mother’s heart
    In that hushed dream upon the height
    We lived, and then we rose to part,
    Because her ways are infinite.

A PRAYER

    O, holy Spirit of the Hazel, hearken now,
    Though shining suns and silver moons burn on the bough,
    And though the fruit of stars by many myriads gleam,
    Yet in the undergrowth below, still in thy dream,
    Lighting the labyrinthine maze and monstrous gloom
    Are many gem-winged flowers with gay and delicate bloom;
    And in the shade, hearken, O Dreamer of the Tree,
    One wild rose blossom of thy spirit breathed on me
    With lovely and still light, a little sister flower
    To those that whitely on the tall moon branches tower,
    Lord of the Hazel now, oh hearken while I pray,
    This wild rose blossom of thy spirit fades away.

THE HEROES

By many a dream of God and man my thoughts in shining flocks were led: 
But as I went through Patrick Street the hopes and prophecies were dead. 
The hopes and prophecies were dead:  they could not blossom where the feet
Walked amid rottenness, or where the brawling shouters stamped the street. 
Where was the beauty that the Lord gave man when first he towered in pride? 
But one came by me at whose word the bitter condemnation died. 
His brows were crowned with thorns of light:  his eyes were bright as one
who sees
The starry palaces shine o’er the sparkle of the heavenly seas. 
‘Is it not beautiful?’ he cried.  Our Faery Land of Hearts’ Desire
Is mingled through the mire and mist, yet stainless keeps its lovely fire. 
The pearly phantoms with blown hair are dancing where the drunkards reel: 
The cloud frail daffodils shine out where filth is splashing from the heel. 
O sweet, and sweet, and sweet to hear, the melodies in rivers run: 
The rapture of their crowded notes is yet the