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Such sights hath Memory to show；
Such voices from the silence thrill；
Such shapes return with Christmas snow； …
The ghosts we all can raise at will。
Oh； children of the village choir；
Your carols on the midnight throw；
Oh bright across the mist and mire
Ye ruddy hearths of Christmas glow！
Beat back the dread； beat down the woe；
Let's cheerily descend the hill；
Be welcome all； to come or go；
The ghosts we all can raise at will！
ENVOY。
Friend； sursum corda； soon or slow
We part； like guests who've joyed their fill；
Forget them not； nor mourn them so；
The ghosts we all can raise at will！
LOVE'S EASTERSONNET
Love died here
Long ago； …
O'er his bier；
Lying low；
Poppies throw；
Shed no tear；
Year by year；
Roses blow！
Year by year；
Adondear
To Love's Queen …
Does not die！
Wakes when green
May is nigh！
BALLADE OF THE GIRTON GIRL
She has just 〃put her gown on〃 at Girton；
She is learned in Latin and Greek；
But lawn tennis she plays with a skirt on
That the prudish remark with a shriek。
In her accents； perhaps； she is weak
（Ladies ARE； one observes with a sigh）；
But in AlgebraTHERE she's unique；
But her forte's to evaluate pi。
She can talk about putting a 〃spirt on〃
（I admit； an unmaidenly freak）；
And she dearly delighteth to flirt on
A punt in some shadowy creek；
Should her bark； by mischance； spring a leak；
She can swim as a swallow can fly；
She can fence； she can put with a cleek；
But her forte's to evaluate pi。
She has lectured on Scopas and Myrton；
Coins； vases； mosaics； the antique；
Old tiles with the secular dirt on；
Old marbles with noses to seek。
And her Cobet she quotes by the week；
And she's written on ＇Greek text： kev＇ and on ＇Greek text： kai＇；
And her service is swift and oblique；
But her forte's to evaluate pi。
ENVOY。
Princess； like a rose is her cheek；
And her eyes are as blue as the sky；
And I'd speak； had I courage to speak；
Buther forte's to evaluate pi。
RONSARD'S GRAVE
Ye wells； ye founts that fall
From the steep mountain wall；
That fall； and flash； and fleet
With silver feet；
Ye woods； ye streams that lave
The meadows with your wave；
Ye hills； and valley fair；
Attend my prayer！
When Heaven and Fate decree
My latest hour for me；
When I must pass away
From pleasant day；
I ask that none my break
The marble for my sake；
Wishful to make more fair
My sepulchre。
Only a laurel tree
Shall shade the grave of me；
Only Apollo's bough
Shall guard me now！
Now shall I be at rest
Among the spirits blest；
The happy dead that dwell …
Where；who may tell？
The snow and wind and hail
May never there prevail；
Nor ever thunder fall
Nor storm at all。
But always fadeless there
The woods are green and fair；
And faithful ever more
Spring to that shore！
There shall I ever hear
Alcaeus' music clear；
And sweetest of all things
There SAPPHO sings。
SAN TERENZO
（The village in the bay of Spezia； near which Shelley was living
before the wreck of the Don Juan。）
Mid April seemed like some November day；
When through the glassy waters； dull as lead；
Our boat； like shadowy barques that bear the dead；
Slipped down the long shores of the Spezian bay；
Rounded a point；and San Terenzo lay
Before us； that gay village； yellow and red；
The roof that covered Shelley's homeless head； …
His house； a place deserted； bleak and grey。
The waves broke on the door…step； fishermen
Cast their long nets； and drew； and cast again。
Deep in the ilex woods we wandered free；
When suddenly the forest glades were stirred
With waving pinions； and a great sea bird
Flew forth； like Shelley's spirit； to the sea！
1880
ROMANCE
My Love dwelt in a Northern land。
A grey tower in a forest green
Was hers； and far on either hand
The long wash of the waves was seen；
And leagues on leagues of yellow sand；
The woven forest boughs between！
And through the silver Northern night
The sunset slowly died away；
And herds of strange deer； lily…white；
Stole forth among the branches grey；
About the coming of the light；
They fled like ghosts before the day！
I know not if the forest green
Still girdles round that castle grey；
I know not if the boughs between
The white deer vanish ere the day；
Above my Love the grass is green；
My heart is colder than the clay！
BALLADE OF HIS OWN COUNTRY
I scribbled on a fly…book's leaves
Among the shining salmon…flies；
A song for summer…time that grieves
I scribbled on a fly…book's leaves。
Between grey sea and golden sheaves；
Beneath the soft wet Morvern skies；
I scribbled on a fly…book's leaves
Among the shining salmon…flies。
TO C。 H。 ARKCOLL
Let them boast of Arabia； oppressed
By the odour of myrrh on the breeze；
In the isles of the East and the West
That are sweet with the cinnamon trees
Let the sandal…wood perfume the seas；
Give the roses to Rhodes and to Crete；
We are more than content； if you please；
With the smell of bog…myrtle and peat！
Though Dan Virgil enjoyed himself best
With the scent of the limes； when the bees
Hummed low 'round the doves in their nest；
While the vintagers lay at their ease；
Had he sung in our northern degrees；
He'd have sought a securer retreat；
He'd have dwelt； where the heart of us flees；
With the smell of bog…myrtle and peat！
Oh； the broom has a chivalrous crest
And the daffodil's fair on the leas；
And the soul of the Southron might rest；
And be perfectly happy with these；
But WE； that were nursed on the knees
Of the hills of the North； we would fleet
Where our hearts might their longing appease
With the smell of bog…myrtle and peat！
ENVOY
Ah Constance； the land of our quest
It is far from the sounds of the street；
Where the Kingdom of Galloway's blest
With the smell of bog…myrtle and peat！
VILLANELLE（To M。 Joseph Boulmier； author of 〃Les Villanelles。〃）
Villanelle； why art thou mute？
Hath the singer ceased to sing？
Hath the Master lost his lute？
Many a pipe and scrannel flute
On the breeze their discords fling；
Villanelle； why art THOU mute？
Sound of tumult and dispute；
Noise of war the echoes bring；
Hath the Master lost his lute？
Once he sang of bud and shoot
In the season of the Spring；
Villanelle； why art thou mute？
Fading leaf and falling fruit
Say； 〃The year is on the wing；
Hath the Master lost his lute？〃
Ere the axe lie at the root；
Ere the winter come as king；
Villanelle； why art thou mute？
Hath the Master lost his lute？
TRIOLETS AFTER MOSCHUS
＇Paragraph of Greek text＇
Alas； for us no second spring；
Like mallows in the garden…bed；
For these the grave has lost his sting；
Alas； for US no second spring；
Who sleep without awakening；
And； dead； for ever more are dead；
Alas； for us no second spring；
Like mallows in the garden…bed！
Alas； the strong； the wise； the brave
That boast themselves the sons of men！
Once they go down into the grave …
Alas； the strong； the wise； the brave； …
They perish and have none to save；
They are sown； and are not raised again；
Alas； the strong； the wise； the brave；
That boast themselves the sons of men！
BALLADE OF CRICKETTO T。 W。 LANG
The burden of hard hitting： slog away！
Here shalt thou make a 〃five〃 and there a 〃four；〃
And then upon thy bat shalt lean； and say；
That thou art in for an uncommon score。
Yea； the loud ring applauding thee shall roar；
And thou to rival THORNTON shalt aspire；
When lo； the Umpire gives thee 〃leg before；〃 …
〃This is the end of every man's desire！〃
The burden of much bowling； when the stay
Of all thy team is 〃collared；〃 swift or slower；
When 〃bailers〃 break not in their wonted way；
And 〃yorkers〃 come not off as here…to…fore；
When length balls shoot no more； ah never more；
When all deliveries lose their former fire；
When bats seem broader than the broad barn…door； …
〃This is the end of every man's desire！〃
The burden of long fielding； when the clay
Clings to thy shoon in sudden shower's downpour；
And running still thou stumblest； or the ray
Of blazing suns doth bite and burn thee sore；
And blind thee till； forgetful of thy lore；
Thou dost most mournfully misjudge a 〃skyer；〃
And lose a match the Fates cannot restore； …
〃This is the end of every man's desire！〃
ENVOY。
Alas； yet liefer on Youth's hither shore
Would I be some poor Player on scant hire；
Than King among the old； who play no more； …
〃THIS is the end of every man's desire！〃
THE LAST MAYING
〃It is told of the last Lovers which watched May…night in the
forest； before men brought the tidings of the Gospel to this land；
that they beheld no Fairies； nor Dwarfs； nor no such Thing； but
the very Venus herself； who bade them 'make such cheer as they
might； for' said she； 'I shall live no more in these Woods； nor
shall ye endure to see another May time。'〃EDMUND GORLIOT； 〃Of
Phantasies and Omens；〃 p。 149。 （1573。）
〃Whence do ye come； with the dew on your hair？
From what far land are the boughs ye bear；
The blossoms and buds upon breasts and tresses；
The light burned white in your faces fair？〃
〃In a falling fane have we built our house；
With the dying Gods we have held carouse；
And our lips are wan