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starbeam on the dagger's haft）； With staring eyes and wide 。 。 。 And now；
up from the darkling sea； Down from the failing moon； Are come
strange shapes to mock at me 。 。 。 All pallid from the star…pale sea；
White from the paling moon 。 。 。
Or whirling fast or wheeling slow Around； around the corpse they go；
All bloodless o'er the sickened sea Beneath the ailing moon！
And are they only wisps of fog That dance along the waves？ Only
shapes of mist the wind Drives along the waves？ Or are they spirits that
the sea Has cheated of their graves？ The ghosts of them that died at sea；
Of murdered men flung in the sea； Whose bodies had no graves？ Lost
souls that haunt for evermore The sobbing reef and hollowed shore And
always…murmuring caves？
Ah； surely something more than fog； More than starlit mist！ For
starlight never makes a sound And fogs are ever whist But hearken；
hearken； hearken； now； For these sing as they dance！
As airily； as eerily； They wheel about and whirl； They jeer at me；
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they fleer at me； They flout me as they swirl！ As whirling fast or
swaying slow； Reeling； wheeling； to and fro； Around； around the corpse
they go； They chill me with their chants！ These be neither men nor
mists Hearken to their chants：
Ever； ever； ever； Drifting like a blossom Seaward； with the starlight
Wan upon her bosom Ever when the quickened Heart of night is
throbbing； Ever when the trembling Tide sets seaward； sobbing； Shall
you see this burden Borne upon its ebbing： See her drifting seaward
Like a broken blossom；
Ever see the starlight Kiss her bruised bosom。
Flight availeth nothing 。 。 。 Still the subtle beaches Draw you back
where Horror Walks their shingled reaches 。 。 。 Ever shall your spirit
Hear the surf resounding； Evermore the ocean Thwarting you and
bounding； Vainly struggle inland！ Lashing you and hounding； Still the
vision hales you From the upland reaches； Goading you and gripping；
Binds you to the beaches！
Ever； ever； ever； Ever shall her laughter； Hunting you and haunting；
Mock and follow after； Rising where the buoy…bell Clangs across the
shallows；
Leaping where the spindrift Hurtles o'er the hollows； Ringing
where the moonlight Gleams along the billows； Ever； ever； ever；
Ever shall her laughter； Hounding you and haunting； Whip and follow
after！
IV SUNSET
I stood among the boats The sinking sun； the angry sun； Across the
sullen wave Laid the sudden strength of his red wrath Like to a shaken
glaive： Or did the sun pause in the west To lift a sword at me； Or
was it she； or was it she； Rose for an instant on some crest And plucked
the red blade from her breast And brandished it at me？
THE TAVERN OF DESPAIR
THE wraiths of murdered hopes and loves Come whispering at the
door； Come creeping through the weeping mist That drapes the barren
moor； But we within have turned the key 'Gainst Hope and Love and
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Care； Where Wit keeps tryst with Folly； at The Tavern of Despair。
And we have come by divers ways To keep this merry tryst； But
few of us have kept within The Narrow Way； I wist； For we are those
whose ampler wits And hearts have proved our curse Foredoomed to
ken the better things And aye to do the worse！
Long since we learned to mock ourselves； And from self…mockery
fell
To heedless laughter in the face Of Heaven； Earth； and Hell。 We
quiver 'neath； and mock； God's rod； We feel； and mock； His wrath； We
mock our own blood on the thorns That rim the 〃Primrose Path。〃
We mock the eerie glimmering shapes That range the outer wold；
We mock our own cold hearts because They are so dead and cold； We
flout the things we might have been Had self to self proved true； We
mock the roses flung away； We mock the garnered rue；
The fates that gibe have lessoned us； There sups to…night on earth
No madder crew of wastrels than This fellowship of mirth。 。 。 。 （Of
mirth 。 。 。 drink； fools！nor let it flag Lest from the outer mist Creep in
that other company Unbidden to the tryst。
We're grown so fond of paradox Perverseness holds us thrall； So
what each jester loves the best He mocks the most of all； But as the jest
and laugh go round； Each in his neighbor's eyes Reads； while he flouts
his heart's desire； The knowledge that he lies。
Not one of us but had some pearls And flung them to the swine；
Not one of us but had some gift Some spark of fire divine Each
might have been God's minister In the temple of some art Each feels
his gift perverted move Wormlike through his dry heart。
If God called Azrael to Him now And bade Death bend the bow
Against the saddest heart that beats Here on this earth below； Not any
sobbing breast would gain The guerdon of that barb
The saddest ones are those that wear The jester's motley garb。
Whose shout aye loudest rings； and whose The maddest cranks and
quips Who mints his soul to laughter's coin And wastes it with his
lips Has grown too sad for sighs and seeks To cheat himself with
mirth； We fools self…doomed to motley are The weariest wights on
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earth！
But yet； for us whose brains and hearts Strove aye in paths perverse；
Doomed still to know the better things And still to do the worse；
What else is there remains for us But make a jest of care And set the
rafters ringing； in Our Tavern of Despair？
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COLORS AND SURFACES
A GOLDEN LAD
（D。 V。 M。）
〃Golden lads and lasses must Like chimney…sweepers come to dust。〃
SHAKESPEARE。
So young； but already the splendor Of genius robed him about
Already the dangerous； tender Regard of the gods marked him out
（On whom the burden and duty They bind； at his earliest breath； Of
showing their own grave beauty； They love and they crown with death。）
We were of one blood； but the olden Rapt poets spake out in his
tone； We were of one blood； but the golden Rathe promise was his； his
alone。
And ever his great eye glistened With visions I could not see； Ever
he thrilled and listened To voices withholden from me。
Young lord of the realms of fancy； The bright dreams flocked to his
call Like sprites that the necromancy Of a Prospero holds in thrall
Quick visions that served and attended； Elusive and hovering things；
With a quiver of joy in the splendid Wild sweep of their luminous
wings；
He dwelt in an alien glamor； He wrought of its gleams a crown；
But the world； with its cruelty and clamor； Broke him and beat him
down；
So he passed； he was worn； he was weary； He was slain at the touch
of life； With a smile that was wistful and eerie He passed from the
senseless strife；
So he ceased （is their humor satiric； These gods that make perfect
and blight？） He ceased like an exquisite lyric That dies on the breast
of night。
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