And all the crowd shrieked out, and muttering charms, Threw down their fiddle-bows and merchandise, Around the stark corpse knelt with suppliant cries, Nor ceased still wondering where was gone - the dead! PARTED LOVE. EVENING. As in a glass at evening, dusky-gray, The faces of those passing through the room Other friends come; the toy of life turns round, The glittering beads change with their tinkling sound, Whilst thou in endless youth sit'st silently. How vain to call time back, to think these arms And solid, never more my eyes can see; But yet, perchance-(speak low)- beyond all harms, PYGMALION. 'MISTRESS of gods and men! I have been thine Nor ever have I passed thy white shafts nine Carved beryl or chased bloodstone; -aid me now, Heart-breaking priceless things: O, make her mine.' Venus inclined her ear, and through the Stone Forthwith slid warmth like spring through sapling-stems, And lo, the eyelid stirred, beneath had grown The tremulous light of life, and all the hems Of her zoned peplos shook upon his breast, She sank by two dread gifts at once oppressed. ARTHUR WILLIAM EDGAR O'SHAUGH NESSY. ODE. We are the music makers, And we are the dreamers of dreams, And sitting by desolate streams;· On whom the pale moon gleams: With wonderful deathless ditties We, in the ages lying In the buried past of the earth, A breath of our inspiration A wondrous thing of our dreaming Unearthly, impossible seeming – The soldier, the king, and the peasant Are working together in one, Till our dream shall become their present, And their work in the world be done. They had no vision amazing And his look, or a word he hath spoken, And therefore to-day is thrilling But we, with our dreaming and singing, The glory about us clinging Of the glorious futures we see, Our souls with high music ringing: O men! it must ever be That we dwell, in our dreaming and singing, A little apart from ye. For we are afar with the dawning How, spite of your human scorning, Great hail! we cry to the comers From the dazzling unknown shore; You shall teach us your song's new numbers, OUTCRY. In all my singing and speaking, In all my thinking and sighing, |