Out of the mid-wood's twilight
Into the meadow's dawn,
Ivory limbed and brown-eyed,
Flashes my Faun!
Beautiful star with the crimson lips
And flagrant daffodil hair,
Come back, come back, in the shaking ships
With a Copy of My Poems
I can write no stately proem
As a prelude to my lay;
WITHIN this restless, hurried, modern world
We took our hearts' full pleasure--You and I,
And now the white sails of our ship are furled,
And spent the lading of our argosy.
TREAD lightly, she is near
Under the snow,
Speak gently, she can hear
The daisies grow.
HOW steep the stairs within Kings' houses are
For exile-wearied feet as mine to tread,
And O how salt and bitter is the bread
Which falls from this Hound's table,--better far
The seasons send their ruin as they go,
For in the spring the narciss shows its head
Nor withers till the rose has flamed to red,
And in the autumn purple violets blow,
We caught the tread of dancing feet,
We loitered down the moonlit street,
And stopped beneath the harlot's house.
The sea was sapphire coloured, and the sky
Burned like a heated opal through the air;
We hoisted sail; the wind was blowing fair
For the blue lands that to the eastward lie.