"For which I cry both day and night, For which I let slip all delight,

That maketh me both deaf and blind,
Careless to win, unskilled to find,
And quick to lose what all men seek.
"Yet tottering as I am, and weak,
Still have I left a little breath

To seek within the jaws of death
An entrance to that happy place,
To seek the unforgotten face

Once seen, once kissed, once reft from me
Anigh the murmuring of the sea."

FROM "THE EARTHLY PARADISE"

INTRODUCTION

Of Heaven or Hell I have no power to sing, I cannot ease the burden of your fears, Or make quick-coming death a little thing, Or bring again the pleasure of past years, Nor for my words shall ye forget your tears, Or hope again for aught that I can say, The idle singer of an empty day.

But rather, when aweary of your mirth, From full hearts still unsatisfied ye sigh, And, feeling kindly unto all the earth, Grudge every minute as it passes by,

Made the more mindful that the sweet days die-Remember me a little then I pray,

The idle singer of an empty day.

The heavy trouble, the bewildering care

That weighs us down who live and earn our bread,
These idle verses have no power to bear;

So let me sing of names remembered,
Because they, living not, can ne'er be dead,
Or long time take their memory quite away
From us poor singers of an empty day.

Dreamer of dreams, born out of my due time, Why should I strive to set the crooked straight? Let it suffice me that my murmuring rhyme Beats with light wing against the ivory gate, Telling a tale not too importunate

To those who in the sleepy region stay,
Lulled by the singer of an empty day.

Folk say, a wizard to a northern king

At Christmas-tide such wondrous things did show, That through one window men beheld the spring,

And through another saw the summer glow,
And through a third the fruited vines a-row,
While still, unheard, but in its wonted way,
Piped the drear wind of that December day.

So with this Earthly Paradise it is,
If ye will read aright, and pardon me,
Who strive to build a shadowy isle of bliss
Midmost the beating of the steely sea,

Where tossed about all hearts of men must be ;

Whose ravening monsters mighty men shall slay, Not the poor singer of an empty day.

FROM "LOVE IS ENOUGH"

THE MUSIC

Love is enough: ho ye who seek saving,

Go no further; come hither; there have been who have found it,

And these know the House of Fulfilment of Craving; These know the Cup with the roses around it; These know the World's Wound and the balm that

hath bound it:

Cry out, the World heedeth not, 'Love, lead us

home!'

He leadeth, He hearkeneth, He cometh to you-ward; Set your faces as steel to the fears that assemble Round his goad for the faint, and his scourge for the froward:

Lo his lips, how with tales of last kisses they tremble!

Lo his eyes of all sorrow that may not dissemble! Cry out, for he heedeth, 'O Love, lead us home!'

O hearken the words of his voice of compassion:

'Come cling round about me, ye faithful who sicken Of the weary unrest and the world's passing fashion! As the rain in mid-morning your troubles shall thicken,

But surely within you some Godhead doth quicken, As ye cry to me heeding, and leading you home.

'Come-pain ye shall have, and be blind to the ending!

Come-fear ye shall have, mid the sky's overcasting! Come-change ye shall have, for far are ye wending! Come-no crown ye shall have for your thirst and your fasting,

But the kissed lips of Love and fair life everlasting! Cry out, for one heedeth, who leadeth you home!'

Is he gone? was he with us?-ho ye who seek saving, Go no further; come hither; for have we not found it?

Here is the House of Fulfilment of Craving;

Here is the Cup with the roses around it;

The World's Wound well healed, and the balm that hath bound it :

Cry out! for he heedeth, fair Love that led home.

THE MESSAGE OF THE MARCH WIND

Fair now is the spring-tide, now earth lies beholding
With the eyes of a lover, the face of the sun;
Long lasteth the daylight, and hope is enfolding
The green-growing acres with increase begun.

Now sweet, sweet it is through the land to be straying, 'Mid the birds and the blossoms and the beasts of the

field;

Love mingles with love, and no evil is weighing
On thy heart or mine, where all sorrow is healed.

From township to township, o'er down and by tillage,
Far, far have we wandered and long was the day;
But now cometh eve at the end of the village,
Where over the grey wall the church riseth grey.