Oh! she has seen your strong young limbs,
    And heard your laughter loud and gay,
    And in your voices she has caught
    The echo of a far-off day,
    When man was closer to the earth;
    And she has marked you for her prey.

    She feels the old Antaean strength
    In you, the great dynamic beat
    Of primal passions, and she sees
    In you the last besieged retreat
    Of love relentless, lusty, fierce,
    Love pain-ecstatic, cruel-sweet.

    O, brothers mine, take care!  Take care! 
    The great white witch rides out to-night. 
    O, younger brothers mine, beware! 
    Look not upon her beauty bright;
    For in her glance there is a snare,
    And in her smile there is a blight.

MOTHER NIGHT

    Eternities before the first-born day,
      Or ere the first sun fledged his wings of flame,
      Calm Night, the everlasting and the same,
    A brooding mother over chaos lay. 
    And whirling suns shall blaze and then decay,
      Shall run their fiery courses and then claim
      The haven of the darkness whence they came;
    Back to Nirvanic peace shall grope their way.

    So when my feeble sun of life burns out,
      And sounded is the hour for my long sleep,
       I shall, full weary of the feverish light,
    Welcome the darkness without fear or doubt,
      And heavy-lidded, I shall softly creep
       Into the quiet bosom of the Night.

THE YOUNG WARRIOR

    Mother, shed no mournful tears,
    But gird me on my sword;
    And give no utterance to thy fears,
    But bless me with thy word.

    The lines are drawn!  The fight is on! 
    A cause is to be won! 
    Mother, look not so white and wan;
    Give Godspeed to thy son.

    Now let thine eyes my way pursue
    Where’er my footsteps fare;
    And when they lead beyond thy view,
    Send after me a prayer.

    But pray not to defend from harm,
    Nor danger to dispel;
    Pray, rather, that with steadfast arm
    I fight the battle well.

    Pray, mother of mine, that I always keep
    My heart and purpose strong,
    My sword unsullied and ready to leap
    Unsheathed against the wrong.

THE GLORY OF THE DAY WAS IN HER FACE

    The glory of the day was in her face,
    The beauty of the night was in her eyes. 
    And over all her loveliness, the grace
    Of Morning blushing in the early skies.

    And in her voice, the calling of the dove;
    Like music of a sweet, melodious part. 
    And in her smile, the breaking light of love;
    And all the gentle virtues in her heart.

    And now the glorious day, the beauteous night,
    The birds that signal to their mates at dawn,
    To my dull ears, to my tear-blinded sight
    Are one with all the dead, since she is gone.