Raise me a dais of silk and down; Hang it with vair and purple dyes; And peacocks with a hundred eyes; In leaves and silver fleur-de-lys: SONG WHEN I am dead, my dearest, Be the green grass above me With showers and dew-drops wet; And if thou wilt, remember, And if thou wilt, forget. I shall not see the shadows, And dreaming through the twilight Haply I may remember, And haply may forget. REMEMBER REMEMBER me when I am gone away, Gone far away into the silent land; Nor I half turn to go, yet turning stay. Remember me when no more day by day You tell me of our future that you plann'd: Only remember me; you understand It will be late to counsel then or pray. And afterwards remember, do not grieve: For if the darkness and corruption leave A vestige of the thoughts that once I had, Better by far you should forget and smile Than that you should remember and be sad. "TOO LATE! TOO LATE!' From "The Prince's Progress" Too late for love, too late for joy, You loitered on the road too long, The enchanted dove upon her branch The enchanted princess in her tower Ten years ago, five years ago, One year ago, Even then you had arrived in time, Then you had known her living face The warm southwind would have awaked Is she fair now as she lies? Once she was fair; Meet queen for any knightly king, With gold-dust on her hair. Now these are poppies in her locks, White poppies she must wear ; And the want graven there: We never saw her with a smile Her bed seem'd never soft to her, She little heeded what she wore, We think her white brows often ached Till silvery hairs show'd in her locks We never heard her speak in haste: And modulated just so much As it was meet. Her heart sat silent through the noise There was no bliss drew nigh to her, You should have wept her yesterday, But wherefore should you weep to-day Lo, we who love weep not to-day, SIDNEY LANIER1 (1842-1881) NIGHT AND DAY THE innocent, sweet Day is dead. Dark Night hath slain her in her bed. 1 From "Poems of Sidney Lanier." Copyright, 1884, 1891, by Mary D. i anier. Published by Charles Scribner's Sons. O, Moors are as fierce to kill as to wed! A sweeter light than ever rayed Now, in a wild, sad after-mood Star-memories of happier times, SONG OF THE CHATTAHOOCHEE I hurry amain to reach the plain, Far from the hills of Habersham, All down the hills of Habersham, Stay, The dewberry dipped for to work delay, And the little reeds sighed Abide, abide, Here in the hills of Habersham, Here in the valleys of Hall. High o'er the hills of Habersham, Fair tales of shade, the poplar tall Deep shades of the hills of Habersham, And oft in the hills of Habersham, The white quartz shone, and the smooth brook-stone And many a luminous jewel lone Crystals clear or a-cloud with mist, Ruby, garnet, and amethyst Made lures with the lights of streaming stone But oh, not the hills of Habersham, Avail: I am fain for to water the plain, Downward, to toil and be mixed with the main, And the lordly main from beyond the plain Calls o'er the hills of Habersham, Calls through the valleys of Hall. WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY (1849-1903) INVICTUS OUT of the night that covers me, |