TO HESPERUS

(After Bion)

O jewel of the deep blue night,
Too soon, to-day, the moon arose;
I pray thee, lend thy lovely light.

Than any other star more bright

An hundred fold thy beauty glows,
O jewel of the deep blue night.

Too soon Selene gained the height,
And now no more her glory shows;
I pray thee, lend thy lovely light.

Anon our revel of delight

Towards the shepherd's dwelling goes,
O jewel of the deep blue night!

And I must lead the dance aright,
Yea-even I-for me they chose:
I pray thee, lend thy lovely light.

No thief am I, nor evil wight,

Nor numbered with the traveller's foes, O jewel of the deep blue night!

None would I spoil, nor e'en affright;
Mine are the Lover's joys and woes;
I pray thee, lend thy lovely light.

For good it is, in all men's sight

(Thou knowest well), to favour those, O jewel of the deep blue night!

Thy golden lamp hath turned to white
The silver of the olive-close;
O jewel of the deep blue night!
I pray thee, lend thy lovely light.

Graham R. Tomson

JEAN-FRANÇOIS MILLET

O Master of the Old and New!

We speak thy name with bated breath; Thy waking years were all too few.

With airs that erst in Athens blew
Thy toil's full harvest murmureth,
O Master of the Old and New!

In misty pastures, dim with dew,
Thy sad, strong spirit slumbereth;
Thy waking years were all too few.

The forms thy potent pencil drew
On sunset light move strong as Death,
O Master of the Old and New!

The sowing seasons turn anew,
And toiling man continueth;

Thy waking years were all too few.

Dark Orcus veils thee from our view
On vast, low meadow-lands of Death,

O Master of the Old and New.

Now men their tardy laurels strew,
And Fame, remorseful, sobbing saith,
'O Master of the Old and New,
Thy waking years were all too few!'

Graham R. Tomson

VILLANELLE TO THE DAFFODIL

O daffodil, flower saffron-gowned,
Effulgent with the Sun-god's gold,
Thou bring'st the joyous season round!

While yet the earth is blanched and browned
Thou dost thy amber leaves unfold,

O daffodil, flower saffron-gowned.

We see thee by yon mossy mound

Wave from thy stalks each pennon bold,— Thou bring'st the joyous season round!

Fair child of April, promise-crowned,
We longed for thee when winds were cold,
O daffodil, flower saffron-gowned.

Again we hear the merry sound

Of sweet birds singing love-songs old,Thou bring'st the joyous season round!

Again we feel our hearts rebound

With pleasures by thy birth foretold,-
O daffodil, flower saffron-gowned,
Thou bring'st the joyous season round!

Clinton Scollard

VILLANELLE TO HELEN

Man's very voice is stilled on Troas' shore,
Sweet Xanthus and Simois both are mute,

Thus have the gods ordained forevermore!

Springs the rank weed where bloomed the rose before, Unplucked on Ida hangs the purple fruit,

Man's very voice is stilled on Troas' shore.

Where heavenly walls towered proud and high of yore, Unharmed now strays abroad the savage brute,

Thus have the gods ordained forevermore!

And they, the wronged, that wasting sorrow bore,
Alas! their tree hath withered to the root,

Man's very voice is stilled on Troas' shore.

In Lacedæmon, loved of heroes hoar,

No trumpet sounds, but piping shepherd's flute, Thus have the gods ordained forevermore!

And thou, the cause, through Aphrodite's lore, Unblamed, art praised on poet's lyre and luteMan's very voice is stilled on Troas' shore. Thus have the gods ordained forevermore!

Clinton Scollard

LOVE, WHY SO LONG AWAY

Love, why so long away

Beyond the hollow seas?

Return, return, I pray!

Though skies be wild and gray,

And rill and fountain freeze,
Love, why so long away?

Ah, wait not till the May

Shall bring the birds and bees!

Return, return, I pray!

Weirdly chill night and day

The winds sob in the trees;

Love, why so long away?

I seem to hear them say
Across snow-drifted leas,
"Return, return, I pray!"

And ever, sad as they,

Calls echo down the breeze, "Return, return,—I—pray!" Love, why so long away?

Clinton Scollard

A VILLANELLE OF LOVE

Ask not if Love no Passion knows,
Since kissing thee, I did desire
To hold thee like a flaming rose.

How should I reason well when glows

My memory of thee as a fire?

Ask not if Love no passion knows.

What wouldst thou then? that Love should close

His eager wings that would come nigher

To hold thee like a flaming rose?

When beauty from thy gaze yet flows
Like wind across my heart, a lyre,
Ask not if Love no passion knows.

That deep soft double flower that grows
Upon thy breast doth Love inspire
To hold thee like a flaming rose.

Is Love then less when Passion shows
Him how most sweetly to desire?
Ask not if Love no passion knows
To hold thee like a flaming rose!

R. L. Megroz

VILLANELLE

O fleet of foot as Artemis,

With silvern wings upon thy feet,
Why dost thou flee from lover's kiss?

Hast thou no other gift than this,
The slow sweet smile wherewith to greet,
O fleet of foot as Artemis?