Sing of enchanted palaces In cities set by gilded seas, Slenderly mimicked in the waves The lace of spires and balconies, The oriels and the architraves, --Dreams! dreams! where lead such dreams as these?
WAS it but a random bird, Harlequin on breast and wing? Or through aspens whispering Was it some rare flute you heard, That you followed, wandering?
Followed all that onward fled, Hares and squirrels, bounding roes, All that through the woodland goes, Wind that murmurs overhead, Leaves that scamper, stream that flows.
Straight the pathway you forsook Tempted by the beckoning Of the winded poplar’s swing, Tempted by the onward brook, In pursuit adventuring,
By the bluebell’s fleeting drift, By the splash of light and shade Down the ride in patterns laid, By the distant sunshine rift, Promise of the open glade.
There, where they had seen you go, Those who loved you called your name, Searching, seeking, to and fro. True, to answer them you came, But your eyes were not the same.
SWEET Thyme, that underfoot so meekly grows In humble company Of splendid rose, Is all content to be The acolyte, as each man knows, Of lavender, of rue, and rosemary.
Sweet Time, that pilfers all my precious years, Will no wise blandishment Or threat of tears Bring you to pause, content? --Hard-hearted greybeard, as he went, He winked at me, and clicked his wicked shears.
LIKE hooded monks they go, Two by two, Pointed and black and slow, Chanting for you, Chanting without a tear, A final song, Chanting above your bier Passing along, Far from the living sun, Far from the day, --My lover, let us run Away, away!
THERE travelled north from Kurdistan along the lone Siberian trails A merchant with his caravan and Eastern barter in his bales. He rode ahead, he rode apart, the city of Irkutsk his goal, Upon his lean Circassian foal, and after came the lumbering cart With creaking wheel, deliberate spoke, and water-bullocks in the yoke; And after these in single string the boorish camels following, Slouching with high unwieldy packs like howdahs piled upon their backs; With slaver hanging from their lips and hatred worming in their brain They slouched beneath their drivers’ whips across the white and mournful plain.