Armistice.

LAST night I grasped the bony hands of Death
Hard in mine own, the while, in desperate wise,
Straitly I gazed into his hollow eyes.

(We were alone beneath a linden-tree

Whose wet leaves trembled to the spring wind's breath;

The bloom of Spring was on the purple skies.)

Heavy of heart I stood and gazed on him,

So fair the world was in that twilight dim,
So sweet its shadow-haunted mysteries.

"Tell me," I cried, "for this I needs must know,
What have we done, O cruel Death, to thee,
That thou art still our one implacable foe,
Whom naught propitiates, naught may overthrow,
Whom none escapeth, howsoe'er he flee,
But, when thou beckonest, must arise and go?"

Gently Death answered me, and musing said,
"Am I in very truth, thine enemy?
Nay, but thine angel, pitiful and mild;

I am the parent; thou the wayward child,
Sprung from my loins, yet holding me in dread.

"Now, as in all time past, all time to be,

I welcome those the World and Time discard,

Whom Life hath banished, whom Eld hath maimed and marred;

None is too vile, too full of misery.

Ever and aye my portal stands unbarred.

Hath not thine own voice called me o'er and o'er ?
Hounded by Care, beset and tortured sore,
Hath not thine own heart ofttimes turned to me?

"Go, and forget me yet awhile again;
But when thy deep desire of life shall wane,
When thou art weary of all things, worst and best,-
Weary of taking thought, of Joy and Pain,
Of thine own faults and failures weariest,-
Cry to me then,—thou shalt not ask in vain ;
Come unto me, and I will give thee rest."

The City of Dream.

WHEN Spring was mine and all the ways were green,
And all the valleys veiled in golden mist,

And all the shadows pearl and amethyst,
Through the dim maze of morrows unforeseen
Fair and far-glimmering as the dusky fire
That lights a pine-wood when the sunset dies-
Faint as the cuckoo calling as it flies—

Sweet as the Spring's own secret-smitten lyre—
Now shining clear with sun-washed roof and spire,
Now, wrapped and compassed round with mysteries—
A haunted palace bowered in ancient trees-

I knew the City of my Heart's Desire.

Even as a late-remembered tryst, it drew
My wandering feet for ever to the quest:
Dreaming, I saw it through the grey dawn dew,
Waking, I dreamed for aye to find the clue,

Past this tree-shadowed slope-that blue hill's crest

Eager I sought my paradise anew

With every sun that fared from east to west.

The autumn evening closes mild and grey,
Lit by a fading sunset's narrow gleam,
And still to-morrow-wards I turn and say
"There, peradventure, I shall find the way."

And still a strange voice calls by wood and stream,
And still the vision glimmers strangely bright-
The wide world o'er I wander, wander, yet,
And still to-morrow-wards my face is set
To seek the city of my heart's delight.
By pastoral plains with purple rivers twined.
By gardens red with amaranth and rose,
Where crumbling towns lie steeped in rich repose,
The grey towers sleeping in the sun and wind,
By gabled street and grassy orchard-close,
I go-and all as painted shadows seem—
Nor moved to linger, nor to look behind
I pass, and many a happy pleasaunce find,
But never the town, the country, of my dream.

The Smile of All-Wisdom.

SEEKING the Smile of All-Wisdom one wandered afar

(He that first fashioned the Sphinx in the dusk of

the past):

Looked on the faces of sages, of heroes of war; Looked on the lips of the lords of the uttermost star, Magi, and kings of the earth-nor had found it at last.

Save for the word of a slave, hoary-headed and weak, Trembling, that clung to the hem of his garment, and said,

Master, the least of your servants has found what you seek:

(Pardon, O Master, if all without wisdom I speak!) Sculpture the smile of your Sphinx from the lips of the Dead!"

Rising, he followed the slave to a hovel anear;

Lifted the mat from the doorway and looked on the bed.

"Nay, thou hast spoken aright, thou hast nothing to fear :

That which I sought thou hast found, Friend; for, lo,

it is here!

Surely the Smile of the Sphinx is the Smile of the Dead!"