Song shall tell how glad and strong

Is the night she soothes alway;

Moan shall grieve with that parched tongue
Of the brazen hours of day:

Sounds as of the springtide they,
Moan and song,

While the chill months long for May.

Not the prayers which with all leave
The world's fluent woes prefer,-
Not the praise the world doth give,
Dulcet fulsome whisperer;-

Let it yield my love to her,
And achieve

Strength that shall not grieve or er

Wheresoe'er my dreams befall,

Both at night-watch, (let it say),

And where round the sun-dial
The reluctant hours of day,
Heartless, hopeless of their way,

Rest and call;

There her glance doth fall and stay.

Suddenly her face is there:

So do mounting vapors wreathe Subtle-scented transports where

The black fir-wood sets its teeth

Part the boughs and look beneath,Lilies share

Secret waters there, and breathe.

Master, bid my shadow bend

Whispering thus till birth of light, Lest new shapes that sleep may send Scatter all its work to flight;

Master, master of the night,

Bid it spend

Speech, song, prayer, and end aright.

Yet, ah me! if at her head

There another phantom lean

Murmuring o'er the fragrant bed,

Ah! and if my spirit's queen

Smile those alien words between,
Ah! poor shade! ▾

Shall it strive, or fade unseen?

How should love's own messenger

Strive with love and be love's foe?
Master, nay! If thus, in her,

Sleep a wedded heart should show,-
Silent let mine image go,

Its old share

Of thy spell-bound air to know.

Like a vapor wan and mute,

Like a flame, so let it pass;

One low sigh across her lute,

One dull breath against her glass;

And to my sad soul, alas!

One salute

Cold as when death's foot shall pass.

Then, too, let all hopes of mine,

All vain hopes by night and day,

Slowly at thy summoning sign

Rise up pallid and obey.

Dreams, if this is thus, were they: -

Yet from old time, life, not death,
Master, in thy rule is rife :

Lo! through thee, with mingling breath,
Adam woke beside his wife.

O Love bring me so, for strife,
Force and faith,

Bring me so not death but life!

Yea, to Love himself is pour'd
This frail song of hope and fear.
Thou art Love, of one accord

With kind Sleep to bring her near,
Still-eyed, deep-eyed, ah how dear!
Master, Lord,

In her name implor'd, O hear!

TROY TOWN.

HEAVENBORN HELEN, Sparta's queen, (0 Troy Town!)

Had two breasts of heavenly sheen,

The sun and moon of the heart's desire: All Love's lordship lay between.

(O Troy's down,

Tall Troy's on fire!)

Helen knelt at Venus' shrine,
(0 Troy Town!)

Saying, 'A little gift is mine,

A little gift for a heart's desire.

Hear me speak and make me a sign! (0 Troy's down,

Tall Troy's on fire!)