Spring.

Spring's face is wreathed in smiles. She had been driven
    Hither and thither at the surly will
    Of treacherous winds till her sweet heart was chill.
Into her grasp the sceptre has been given
    And now she touches with a proud young hand
    The earth, and turns to blossoms all the land.

We catch the smile, the joyousness, the pride,
    And share them with her. Surely winter gloom
    Is for the old, and frost is for the tomb.
Youth must have pleasure, and the tremulous tide
    Of sun-kissed waves, and all the golden fire
    Of Summer's noontide splendor of desire.

I have forgotten, - for the breath of buds
    Is on my temples, if in former days
    I have known sorrow; I remember praise,
And calm content, and joy's great ocean-floods,
 ...

That haunting air had some far strain of it,
That morning rose hath flung it back to met
The wind of spring, the ancient, awful sea.
        Bid me remember it.

And looking back against the look of Love,
I feel the old shame start again and sting;
Such eyes are Love's they will not ask the thing,
        But I remember it!

So this one dream of heaven I dare not dream :
We two in your familiar ways and high.
While you and God forget, and even I
        Cannot remember it!

I am the Vision and the Dream
Of trembling Age, and yearning Youth;
I am the Sorceress Supreme.
I am Illusion; I am Truth.

I am the Queen to whom belongs
The royal right great gifts to give;
I am the Singer of the Songs
That lure men on to live and live.

There is no music like to mine;
I sing in green, and gold and red;
I pour from secret casks the wine
That cheers the cold hearts of the dead.

My harp it has a thousand tones,
And makes the world with joy a-flood;
The old men feel it in their bones,
And life leaps laughing in their blood.

The sourest mortal all in vain
Shall try from me to keep apart;
I have no commerce with his brain,
I storm the fortress of his heart.

I am the Soul of things to come;
I ma...

Child, lover, servant, master of Romance,
To you she showed, not splendid of attire,
With gaud and grace, but all to your desire
In lonelier hues of solemn radiance!
Long years you followed her, and at her glance,
As at some word, divinely sweet or dire,
Beheld the souls of men, in shapes of fire,
Through veiling flesh look out to her askance.

You saw the brand upon unbranded breast;
From evil heart you saw the witches wind;
You saw dark passion breed in frolic youth;
And yet, with sight all delicate and blest,
You knew the primrose of a maiden's mind,
You took of shame the grave white flower of truth!

    What art thou doing here, O Imagination?    Go away I entreat thee by the gods, as thou didst come, for I want thee not.    But thou art come according to thy old fashion.    I am not angry with thee - only go away.
    - Marcus Antoninus

Lilac hazes veil the skies.
    Languid sighs
Breathes the mild, caressing air.
Pink as coral's branching sprays,
    Orchard ways
With the blossomed peach are fair.


Sunshine, cordial as a kiss,
    Poureth bliss
In this craving soul of mine,
And my heart her flower-cup
    Lifteth up,
Thirsting for the draught divine.


Swift the liquid golden flame
    Through my frame
Sets my throbbing veins afire.
Bright, alluring dreams arise,
    Brim mine eyes
With the tears of strong desi...

Ah, give again the pitiless snow and sleet
November's leaves, or raving winds, that beat
The heart's own doors, or rain's long ache and fret!
Only, not spring and all this delicate sweet!
Or not this vision of a girl, so set
In April grass, in April violet!