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We dream； as some Greek shepherd erst might sing；
Half credulous； of easy Proserpine；
And of the lands that lie 'beneath the day's decline。'
THE SHADE OF HELEN。
Some say that Helen went never to Troy； but abode in Egypt； for the
gods； having made in her semblance a woman out of clouds and
shadows； sent the same to be wife to Paris。 For this shadow then
the Greeks and Trojans slew each other。
Why from the quiet hollows of the hills；
And extreme meeting place of light and shade；
Wherein soft rains fell slowly； and became
Clouds among sister clouds； where fair spent beams
And dying glories of the sun would dwell；
Why have they whom I know not； nor may know；
Strange hands； unseen and ruthless； fashioned me；
And borne me from the silent shadowy hills；
Hither； to noise and glow of alien life；
To harsh and clamorous swords； and sound of war？
One speaks unto me words that would be sweet；
Made harsh； made keen with love that knows me not；
And some strange force； within me or around；
Makes answer； kiss for kiss； and sigh for sigh；
And somewhere there is fever in the halls
That troubles me； for no such trouble came
To vex the cool far hollows of the hills。
The foolish folk crowd round me； and they cry；
That house； and wife； and lands； and all Troy town；
Are little to lose； if they may keep me here；
And see me flit； a pale and silent shade；
Among the streets bereft； and helpless shrines。
At other hours another life seems mine；
Where one great river runs unswollen of rain；
By pyramids of unremembered kings；
And homes of men obedient to the Dead。
There dark and quiet faces come and go
Around me； then again the shriek of arms；
And all the turmoil of the Ilian men。
What are they？ even shadows such as I。
What make they？ Even this … the sport of gods …
The sport of gods； however free they seem。
Ah； would the game were ended； and the light；
The blinding light； and all too mighty suns；
Withdrawn； and I once more with sister shades；
Unloved； forgotten； mingled with the mist；
Dwelt in the hollows of the shadowy hills。
SONNETS
SHE。
To H。 R。 H。
Not in the waste beyond the swamps and sand；
The fever…haunted forest and lagoon；
Mysterious Kor thy walls forsaken stand；
Thy lonely towers beneath the lonely moon；
Not there doth Ayesha linger； rune by rune
Spelling strange scriptures of a people banned。
The world is disenchanted； over soon
Shall Europe send her spies through all the land。
Nay； not in Kor； but in whatever spot；
In town or field； or by the insatiate sea；
Men brood on buried loves； and unforgot；
Or break themselves on some divine decree；
Or would o'erleap the limits of their lot；
There； in the tombs and deathless； dwelleth SHE！
HERODOTUS IN EGYPT。
He left the land of youth； he left the young；
The smiling gods of Greece； he passed the isle
Where Jason loitered； and where Sappho sung；
He sought the secret…founted wave of Nile；
And of their old world； dead a weary while；
Heard the priests murmur in their mystic tongue；
And through the fanes went voyaging； among
Dark tribes that worshipped Cat and Crocodile。
He learned the tales of death Divine and birth；
Strange loves of Hawk and Serpent； Sky and Earth；
The marriage； and the slaying of the Sun。
The shrines of gods and beasts he wandered through；
And mocked not at their godhead； for he knew
Behind all creeds the Spirit that is One。
GERARD DE NERVAL。
Of all that were thy prisons … ah； untamed；
Ah； light and sacred soul！ … none holds thee now；
No wall； no bar； no body of flesh； but thou
Art free and happy in the lands unnamed；
Within whose gates； on weary wings and maimed；
Thou still would'st bear that mystic golden bough
The Sibyl doth to singing men allow；
Yet thy report folk heeded not； but blamed。
And they would smile and wonder； seeing where
Thou stood'st； to watch light leaves； or clouds； or wind；
Dreamily murmuring a ballad air；
Caught from the Valois peasants； dost thou find
A new life gladder than the old times were；
A love more fair than Sylvie； and as kind？
RONSARD。
Master； I see thee with the locks of grey；
Crowned by the Muses with the laurel…wreath；
I see the roses hiding underneath；
Cassandra's gift； she was less dear than they。
Thou； Master； first hast roused the lyric lay；
The sleeping song that the dead years bequeath；
Hast sung thine answer to the lays that breathe
Through ages； and through ages far away。
And thou hast heard the pulse of Pindar beat；
Known Horace by the fount Bandusian！
Their deathless line thy living strains repeat；
But ah； thy voice is sad； thy roses wan；
But ah； thy honey is not honey…sweet；
Thy bees have fed on yews Sardinian！
LOVE'S MIRACLE。
With other helpless folk about the gate；
The gate called Beautiful； with weary eyes
That take no pleasure in the summer skies；
Nor all things that are fairest； does she wait；
So bleak a time； so sad a changeless fate
Makes her with dull experience early wise；
And in the dawning and the sunset； sighs
That all hath been； and shall be； desolate。
Ah； if Love come not soon； and bid her live；
And know herself the fairest of fair things；
Ah； if he have no healing gift to give；
Warm from his breast； and holy from his wings；
Or if at least Love's shadow in passing by
Touch not and heal her； surely she must die。
DREAMS。
He spake not truth； however wise； who said
That happy； and that hapless men in sleep
Have equal fortune； fallen from care as deep
As countless； careless； races of the dead。
Not so； for alien paths of dreams we tread；
And one beholds the faces that he sighs
In vain to bring before his daylit eyes；
And waking； he remembers on his bed；
And one with fainting heart and feeble hand
Fights a dim battle in a doubtful land
Where strength and courage were of no avail；
And one is borne on fairy breezes far
To the bright harbours of a golden star
Down fragrant fleeting waters rosy pale。
TWO SONNETS OF THE SIRENS。
'Les Sirenes estoient tant intimes amies et fidelles compagnes de
Proserpine； qu'elles estoient toujours ensemble。 Esmues du juste
deul de la perte de leur chere compagne； et enuyees jusques au
desepoir； elles s'arresterent e la mer Sicilienne； ou par leurs
chants elles attiroient les navigans； mais l'unique fin de la
volupte de leur musique est la Mort。'
Pontus De Tyard； 1570
The Sirens once were maidens innocent
That through the water…meads with Proserpine
Plucked no fire…hearted flowers； but were content
Cool fritillaries and flag…flowers to twine；
With lilies woven and with wet woodbine；
Till once they sought the bright AEtnaean flowers；
And their glad mistress fled from summer hours
With Hades；