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This winter air is keen and cold；
And keen and cold this winter sun；
But round my chair the children run
Like little things of dancing gold。
Sometimes about the painted kiosk
The mimic soldiers strut and stride；
Sometimes the blue…eyed brigands hide
In the bleak tangles of the bosk。
And sometimes； while the old nurse cons
Her book； they steal across the square；
And launch their paper navies where
Huge Triton writhes in greenish bronze。
And now in mimic flight they flee；
And now they rush； a boisterous band …
And； tiny hand on tiny hand；
Climb up the black and leafless tree。
Ah！ cruel tree！ if I were you；
And children climbed me； for their sake
Though it be winter I would break
Into spring blossoms white and blue！
PAN … DOUBLE VILLANELLE
I。
O goat…foot God of Arcady！
This modern world is grey and old；
And what remains to us of thee？
No more the shepherd lads in glee
Throw apples at thy wattled fold；
O goat…foot God of Arcady！
Nor through the laurels can one see
Thy soft brown limbs； thy beard of gold
And what remains to us of thee？
And dull and dead our Thames would be；
For here the winds are chill and cold；
O goat…loot God of Arcady！
Then keep the tomb of Helice；
Thine olive…woods； thy vine…clad wold；
And what remains to us of thee？
Though many an unsung elegy
Sleeps in the reeds our rivers hold；
O goat…foot God of Arcady！
Ah； what remains to us of thee？
II。
Ah； leave the hills of Arcady；
Thy satyrs and their wanton play；
This modern world hath need of thee。
No nymph or Faun indeed have we；
For Faun and nymph are old and grey；
Ah； leave the hills of Arcady！
This is the land where liberty
Lit grave…browed Milton on his way；
This modern world hath need of thee！
A land of ancient chivalry
Where gentle Sidney saw the day；
Ah； leave the hills of Arcady！
This fierce sea…lion of the sea；
This England lacks some stronger lay；
This modern world hath need of thee！
Then blow some trumpet loud and free；
And give thine oaten pipe away；
Ah； leave the hills of Arcady！
This modern world hath need of thee！
IN THE FOREST
Out of the mid…wood's twilight
Into the meadow's dawn；
Ivory limbed and brown…eyed；
Flashes my Faun！
He skips through the copses singing；
And his shadow dances along；
And I know not which I should follow；
Shadow or song！
O Hunter； snare me his shadow！
O Nightingale； catch me his strain！
Else moonstruck with music and madness
I track him in vain！
SYMPHONY IN YELLOW
An omnibus across the bridge
Crawls like a yellow butterfly
And； here and there； a passer…by
Shows like a little restless midge。
Big barges full of yellow hay
Are moored against the shadowy wharf；
And； like a yellow silken scarf；
The thick fog hangs along the quay。
The yellow leaves begin to fade
And flutter from the Temple elms；
And at my feet the pale green Thames
Lies like a rod of rippled jade。
SONNETS
HELAS！
To drift with every passion till my soul
Is a stringed lute on which can winds can play；
Is it for this that I have given away
Mine ancient wisdom and austere control？
Methinks my life is a twice…written scroll
Scrawled over on some boyish holiday
With idle songs for pipe and virelay；
Which do but mar the secret of the whole。
Surely there was a time I might have trod
The sunlit heights； and from life's dissonance
Struck one clear chord to reach the ears of God：
Is that time dead？ lo！ with a little rod
I did but touch the honey of romance …
And must I lose a soul's inheritance？
TO MILTON
Milton！ I think thy spirit hath passed away
From these white cliffs and high…embattled towers；
This gorgeous fiery…coloured world of ours
Seems fallen into ashes dull and grey；
And the age changed unto a mimic play
Wherein we waste our else too…crowded hours：
For all our pomp and pageantry and powers
We are but fit to delve the common clay；
Seeing this little isle on which we stand；
This England； this sea…lion of the sea；
By ignorant demagogues is held in fee；
Who love her not： Dear God！ is this the land
Which bare a triple empire in her hand
When Cromwell spake the word Democracy！
ON THE MASSACRE OF THE CHRISTIANS IN BULGARIA
Christ； dost Thou live indeed？ or are Thy bones
Still straitened in their rock…hewn sepulchre？
And was Thy Rising only dreamed by her
Whose love of Thee for all her sin atones？
For here the air is horrid with men's groans；
The priests who call upon Thy name are slain；
Dost Thou not hear the bitter wail of pain
From those whose children lie upon the stones？
Come down； O Son of God！ incestuous gloom
Curtains the land； and through the starless night
Over Thy Cross a Crescent moon I see！
If Thou in very truth didst burst the tomb
Come down； O Son of Man！ and show Thy might
Lest Mahomet be crowned instead of Thee！
HOLY WEEK AT GENOA
I wandered through Scoglietto's far retreat；
The oranges on each o'erhanging spray
Burned as bright lamps of gold to shame the day；
Some startled bird with fluttering wings and fleet
Made snow of all the blossoms； at my feet
Like silver moons the pale narcissi lay：
And the curved waves that streaked the great green bay
Laughed i' the sun； and life seemed very sweet。
Outside the young boy…priest passed singing clear；
'Jesus the son of Mary has been slain；
O come and fill His sepulchre with flowers。'
Ah； God！ Ah； God！ those dear Hellenic hours
Had drowned all memory of Thy bitter pain；
The Cross； the Crown； the Soldiers and the Spear。
URBS SACRA AETERNA
Rome！ what a scroll of History thine has been；
In the first days thy sword republican
Ruled the whole world for many an age's span：
Then of the peoples wert thou royal Queen；
Till in thy streets the bearded Goth was seen；
And now upon thy walls the breezes fan
（Ah； city crowned by God； discrowned by man！）
The hated flag of red and white and green。
When was thy glory！ when in search for power
Thine eagles flew to greet the double sun；
And the wild nations shuddered at thy rod？
Nay； but thy glory tarried for this hour；
When pilgrims kneel before the Holy One；
The prisoned shepherd of the Church of God。
MONTRE MARIO
E TENEBRIS
Come down； O Christ； and help me！ reach Thy hand；
For I am drowning in a stormier sea
Than Simon on Thy lake of Galilee：
The wine of life is spilt upon the sand；
My heart is as some famine…murdered land
Whence all good things have perished utterly；
And well I know my soul in Hell must lie
If I this night before God's throne should stand。
'He sleeps perchance； or rideth to the chase；
Like Baal； when his prophets howled