XVI

TO W. E. HENLEY

'HE year runs through her phases; rain and sun,

TH

Springtime and summer pass; winter succeeds; But one pale season rules the house of death. Cold falls the imprisoned daylight; fell disease By each lean pallet squats, and pain and sleep Toss gaping on the pillows.

Uprise and take thy pipe.

But O thou!
Bid music flow,

Strains by good thoughts attended, like the spring
The swallows follow over land and sea.

Pain sleeps at once; at once, with open eyes,
Dozing despair awakes. The shepherd sees
His flock come bleating home; the seaman hears
Once more the cordage rattle. Airs of home!
Youth, love and roses blossom; the gaunt ward
Dislimns and disappears, and, opening out,
Shows brooks and forests, and the blue beyond
Of mountains.

Small the pipe; but O! do thou, Peak-faced and suffering piper, blow therein The dirge of heroes dead; and to these sick,

TO W. E. HENLEY

These dying, sound the triumph over death.
Behold! each greatly breathes; each tastes a joy
Unknown before, in dying; for each knows
A hero dies with him-though unfulfilled,
Yet conquering truly and not dies in vain.

So is pain cheered, death comforted; the house
Of sorrow smiles to listen. Once again -

O thou, Orpheus and Heracles, the bard
And the deliverer, touch the stops again!

XVII

HENRY JAMES

HO comes to-night? We ope the doors in vain.

WH

Who comes? My bursting walls, can you contain The presences that now together throng

Your narrow entry, as with flowers and song,
As with the air of life, the breath of talk?
Lo, how these fair immaculate women walk
Behind their jocund maker; and we see
Slighted De Mauves, and that far different she,
Gressie, the trivial sphynx; and to our feast
Daisy and Barb and Chancellor (she not least!)
With all their silken, all their airy kin,

Do like unbidden angels enter in.

But he, attended by these shining names,

Comes (best of all) himself— our welcome James.

THE MIRROR SPEAKS

WHERE the bells peal far at sea

W

Cunning fingers fashioned me.

There on palace walls I hung
While that Consuelo sung;

But I heard, though I listened well,
Never a note, never a trill,

Never a beat of the chiming bell.
There I hung and looked, and there
In my grey face, faces fair

Shone from under shining hair.
Well I saw the poising head,

But the lips moved and nothing said;
And when lights were in the hall,
Silent moved the dancers all.

So awhile I glowed, and then
Fell on dusty days and men;
Long I slumbered packed in straw,
Long I none but dealers saw;
Till before my silent eye

One that sees came passing by.

Now with an outlandish grace,
To the sparkling fire I face
In the blue room at Skerryvore;
Where I wait until the door
Open, and the Prince of Men,
Henry James, shall come again.