■ '^■-r-'. 
 
 a
 
 ^^) 
 
 ^ /^^ 
 
 -=r^^ 
 
 rjL 
 
 '»:/ujiivj jv 
 
 z^ ^ 
 
 '.aUJIlVJjQ 
 
 'K 
 
 "^ 
 
 >> 
 
 9 iM^Wl 
 
 HIV 
 
 A^: 
 
 o 
 
 A^' 
 
 :$ 
 
 o C5 
 
 ,iVJ-jO^ 
 
 '^d/UdllVJ-iO' 
 
 >• 
 
 ^. 
 
 
 .^ 
 
 ilfj 
 
 O 
 
 a 
 
 c? 
 
 uw 
 
 % 
 
 ,.OF-CMIF0;?(' 
 
 'J. > 
 
 ^^^ 
 
 ^, 
 
 O 
 
 o 
 
 5 
 
 ^^^lU\ANC[lfj 
 
 ''^/saniNfi ]\\' 
 
 '•Af-l'N'!VEPy//, 
 
 
 %]]•. 
 
 in'-" 'Am Cr 
 
 -3 
 
 
 .A^IIBPARY^, 
 
 ^ 
 
 ^;,^t•llBRARY^ 
 
 
 y 
 
 JO 
 
 .^\\^lJNlvt. 
 
 
 ^y 
 
 •iijjr>v iu. 
 
 •xM.tUj> 
 
 ^3 a 
 
 3 
 
 'I 
 
 I g I 
 
 ^ ^ J t 5 ^ 
 
 ^ 
 
 ^<?Aiivaan ^N' 
 
 <r,' ^ 
 
 .N"^ 
 
 'iJAavaaii-^^ 
 
 /-, 
 
 %OJI1VJJO^ 
 
 \\\t UNIVfRS/A 
 
 
 
 
 ' i ij j.'i'. 
 
 '''/^ajAiNn 3W
 
 
 
 o 
 
 ^<!/ojnvojo^ 
 
 ^\\E UNIVER^-//, 
 
 o 
 
 ^vWSAiNCELfj> 
 
 ■^/^aaAiNa-iwv 
 
 ^.^OFCALIF0% 
 
 > 
 
 ^<5Ayvaan-# ^OAavaaii-i^ 
 
 ^ILIBRARYO^ -<^IIIBRARYQ^ 
 
 ^ 
 
 ^ 
 
 %jnvjjo>' '^<!/ojnvDjo'^ 
 
 .^MEUNIVERS-//, 
 
 ■<ril30NVS01^^ 
 
 ^lOSANCElfj] 
 
 Or 
 
 %a3AiNn-3W^ 
 
 A;OFCAIIF0% AOfCAilF0% ,\WEUMIVERS-//i 
 
 
 ^>ril3DNVS01^'^ 
 
 vvlOSANGELfj: 
 
 '^/5a3AiNn-3W^ 
 
 AWE UNIVERS//- 
 
 ^ 
 
 ^i7l30NVSOl^^ 
 
 vV<10SANCElfj> 
 
 o 
 
 "^/^aSAlNO^WV 
 
 ^^s^l•LIBRARY6k -;.n,\ILIBRARYQ 
 
 ^OJllVDJO 
 
 '^<!/OdnV3-30^ 
 
 ^MEUNIVERS//, 
 
 o 
 
 .vWSANCELfj> 
 
 ^^.OFfALIF0% 
 
 ^.OFCALIFO/?^ 
 
 '^Aa3AiNf]-3WV^ "^(^AHvaaiiA^^ ^Aavaaii-^^ 
 
 ^ 
 
 ^tllBRARY6k ^ILIBRARYQ/r^ 
 
 :S 
 
 ^JIIYD-JO^" '^(tfOJITVDJO^' 
 
 \WEUNIVERy/A ^vWSANCElfj 
 
 en 
 
 ■< 
 
 cc 
 
 oa 
 
 , .. '' 'J O 
 
 <fil30NVS01^ %a3AINn3\\^
 
 4
 
 ENGLISH POEMS
 
 BOOKS BY RICHARD LE GALLIENNE 
 
 Unifortn Edition, Crtnvn ^vo. Purple Cloth 
 
 The Book Bills op Narcissus. 
 
 3rd Edition, y. 6d. net. 
 
 Prose Fancies. 4th Edition, 5s. net. 
 
 The Religion of a Literary Man. 
 
 5th Edition, y. 6d. tut. 
 
 Robert Louis Stevenson, an Elegy ; and other 
 Poems. 4J. bd. net. 
 
 George Meredith, some Characteristics. 
 
 4th Edition, 5^. (>d. tut. 
 
 English Poems. 4th Edition, 4J. 6d. net. 
 
 Retrospective Reviews, a Liter.-iry I^g, 1891- 
 1895. 2 vols. TS. net. (In preparation.)
 
 ln^&^ 
 
 (3a/Iu/i/ic, 
 
 
 (5c^ (^orn/zi^-^ c^.S)- j8c;s>- 
 
 ?
 
 First Edition 
 
 September 1891 
 
 Second Edition 
 
 October 1892 
 
 Third Edition 
 
 January 1894 
 
 Fourth Edition 
 
 Reiiised April 1895
 
 Lip I 
 
 To Sissie Le Gallienne 
 
 LISRAR/
 
 H
 
 EPISTLE DEDICATORY 
 
 Dear Sister : Hear the conclusion of the whole 
 matter. You dream like mad, you love like tinder, you 
 aspire like a star-struck moth — -for what ? That you 
 may hive little lyrics, and sell to a publisher for thirty 
 pieces of silver. 
 
 Hard by us here is a ' bee-farm.' It always reminds 
 me of a publisher s. The bee has loved a thousand 
 flowers, through a hundred afternoons, he has filled 
 little sacred cells with the gold of his stolen kisses — for 
 what ? That the ivhole should be wretiched away and 
 sold at so much ' the comb ' — as though it were a hair- 
 comb. ' Mummy is become merchandise . . . and Pharaoh 
 is sold for balsams' 
 
 Can we ever forget those old mornings when 7ve 
 rose with the lark, and, while the earliest sunlight 
 slanted through the sleeping hotcse, stole to the little
 
 viii EPISTLE DEDICATORY 
 
 bookcUid study to read — Heaven bless us ! — you, perhaps, 
 Mary WoUstonecraft, and I, hivij, in a Froben folio 
 of 1531 !! 
 
 Will you accept these old verses in memory of those 
 old mornings ? Ah, then came in the sweet o' the year. 
 
 Yours noiv as then, 
 
 R. Le G. 
 
 May \^lh, 181)2.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 Epistk Dedicatory, 
 
 To the Reader, .... 
 
 1. PAOLO AND FRANCESCA, 
 
 rAGE 
 
 vii 
 
 3 
 7 
 
 II. YOUNG LOVE- 
 
 i. 
 
 Preludes, 
 
 21 
 
 ii. 
 
 Prelude — ' I make this rhyme, 
 
 ' . . 23 
 
 iii. 
 
 ' But, Song, arise thee on a gre 
 
 >ater wing,' 26 
 
 iv. 
 
 Once, .... 
 
 27 
 
 V. 
 
 The Two Daffodils, 
 
 28 
 
 vi. 
 
 ' Why did she marry him ? ' 
 
 30 
 
 vii. 
 
 The Lamp and the Star, 
 
 31 
 
 viii. 
 
 Orbits, .... 
 
 32 
 
 ix. 
 
 Never — Ever, . 
 
 32 
 
 X. 
 
 Love's Poor, . 
 
 33 
 
 xi. 
 
 Comfort of Dante, . 
 
 33 
 
 xii. 
 
 A Lost Hour, 
 
 34 
 
 xiii. 
 
 Met once more, 
 
 35 
 
 xiv. 
 
 A June Lily, . 
 
 35
 
 CONrENTS 
 
 xv. Ilet^ret, ...■•■• 37 
 
 xvi. Love Afar, ...... 38 
 
 xvii. Canst thou be true across so many miles ? 40 
 
 Postxrripf. . . . . • • 4' 
 
 III. COR CORDIUM— 
 
 To my Wife, iMildred, .... 45 
 
 The Destined Maid : a Prayer, ... 47 
 
 With some old Love Verses, ... 50 
 
 In a copy of Mr. Swinburne's Tm/rnm, 51 
 
 Comfort at Partinjf, . . . . 52 
 
 Happy Letter, 53 
 
 Primrose and Violet, ..... 54 
 
 ' Juliet and her Romeo,' .... 55 
 
 In her Diary, 5^ 
 
 Two Parables, 57 
 
 A Love Letter, 59 
 
 In the Niglit, 60 
 
 The Constant Lover, 61 
 
 The Wonder-Child, 62 
 
 IV. MISCELLANEOUS— 
 The House of Venus, 
 Satietv, 
 
 65 
 66
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 
 
 xi 
 
 PAGB 
 
 What of the Darkness ? .... 67 
 
 Ad Cimmerios, . 
 
 
 
 68 
 
 Old Love Letters, 
 
 
 
 . 69 
 
 Death in a London Lodging, 
 
 
 
 70 
 
 Time Flies, 
 
 
 
 74 
 
 So soon Tired ? . 
 
 
 
 75 
 
 Autumn, .... 
 
 
 
 76 
 
 A Frost Fancy, . 
 
 
 
 78 
 
 The World is Wide, . 
 
 
 
 79 
 
 Saint Charles ! . 
 
 
 
 80 
 
 Good-Night, .... 
 
 
 
 81 
 
 Beatrice, 
 
 
 
 82 
 
 A Child's Evensong, . 
 
 
 
 83 
 
 An Epitaph on a Goldfish, . 
 
 
 
 84 
 
 Beauty Accurst, 
 
 
 
 85 
 
 To a Dead Friend, 
 
 
 
 87 
 
 Sunset in the City, 
 
 
 
 89 
 
 The City in Moonlight, 
 
 
 
 90 
 
 V. OF POETS AND POETRY— 
 
 Inscriptions, .... 
 The De'cadent to his Soul . 
 To a Poet, .... 
 
 The Passionate Reader to his Poet, 
 
 93 
 94 
 98 
 
 99
 
 XII 
 
 CON'IKN'rs 
 
 
 
 PAGF, 
 
 Matthew Arnold. 
 
 lOI 
 
 ' Tennyson ' at tlie Farm, . 
 
 I02 
 
 'The Desk's Dry Wood.' . 
 
 103 
 
 A Library in a Garden, 
 
 . 105 
 
 On the Morals of Poets. . 
 
 105 
 
 Faery Gold, .... 
 
 106 
 
 All Sung, 
 
 109 
 
 C'orydon's Farewell to his Pipe, . 
 
 I 10
 
 ENGLISH POEMS
 
 TO THE READER 
 
 Art tvas a palace once, things great and fair, 
 And strong a7id holy, found a temple there : 
 Now 'tis a lazar-house of leprous men. 
 shall we hear an English song again ! 
 Still English larks mount in the merry mom, 
 An English May still brings an English thorn, 
 Still English daisies up and down the grass. 
 Still English love for English lad and lass — 
 Yet youngsters blush to siiig an English song ! 
 
 Thou nightingale that for six hundred years 
 Sang to the world — art thou husht at last ! 
 For, not of thee this new voice in our ears, 
 Music of France that once was of the spheres ; 
 And not of thee these strange green flowers that 
 
 spring 
 From daisy roots and seemed to bear a sting. 
 
 Thou Helicon of numbers 'undefiled,' 
 Forgive that 'neath the shadow of thy name, 
 England, I bring a song of little farne j 
 Not as one worthy but as loving thee. 
 Not as a singer, only as a child.
 
 PAOLO AND FRANCESCA
 
 To R. K. Leather 
 (July Ifith, 1892.)
 
 PAOLO AND FRANCESCA 
 
 It happened in that great ItaHan land 
 Where every bosom beateth with a star — 
 
 At Rimini, anigh that crumbling strand 
 The Adriatic filcheth near and far — 
 In that same past where Dante's dream-days are. 
 
 That one Francesca gave her youthful gold 
 Unto an aged carle to bolt and bar ; 
 
 Though all the love which great young hearts 
 can hold, 
 How could she give that love unto a miser old ? 
 
 Nay ! but young Paolo was the happy lad, 
 A youth of dreaming eye yet dauntless foot. 
 
 Who all Francesca' s wealth of loving had ; 
 One brave to scale a wall and steal the fruit. 
 Nor fear because some dotard owned the root ; 
 
 Yea ! one who wore his love like sword on thigh 
 And kept not all his valour for his lute ; 
 
 One who could dare as well as sing and sigh. 
 Ah ! then were hearts to love, but they are long 
 gone by.
 
 8 PAOLO AND FRANCESCA 
 
 Ye lily-wives so happy in the nest, 
 
 Whose joy within the gates of duty springs, 
 Blame not Love's poor, who, if they would be blest, 
 
 Must steal what comes to you with marriage 
 rings : 
 
 Ye pity the poor lark whose scarce-tried wings 
 Faint in the net, while still the morning air 
 
 With brown free throats of all his brethren sings. 
 And can it be ye will not pity her. 
 Whose youth is as a lark all lost to singing there ? 
 
 In opportunity of dear-bought joy 
 
 Rich were this twain, for old Lanciotto, he 
 
 Who was her lord, was brother of her boy. 
 And in one home together dwelt the three, 
 With brothers two beside ; and he and she 
 
 Sat at one board together, in one fane 
 Their voices rose upon one hymn, ah me ! 
 
 Beneath one roof each night their limbs had 
 lain. 
 As now in death they share the one eternal pain. 
 
 As much as common men can love a flower 
 Unto Lanciotto was Francesca dear, 
 
 'Tis not on such Love wields his jealous power; 
 And therefore Paolo moved him not to fear.
 
 PAOLO AND FRANCESCA 9 
 
 Though he so green with youth and he so sere. 
 Nor yet indeed was wrong, the hidden thing 
 *■ Grew at each heart, unknown of each, a year, — 
 Two eggs still silent in the nest through spring. 
 May draws so near to June, and not yet time to sing! 
 
 Yet oft, indeed, through days that gave no sign 
 
 Had but Francesca turned about and read 
 Paolo's bright eyes that only dared to shine 
 
 On the dear gold that glorified her head ; 
 
 Ere all the light had from their circles fled 
 And the grey Honour darkened all his face : 
 
 They had not come to June and nothing said. 
 Day followed day with such an even pace, 
 Nor night succeeded night and left no starry trace. 
 
 Or, surely, had the flower Paolo pressed 
 
 In some sweet volume when he put it by, 
 Told how his mistress drew it to her breast 
 
 And called upon his name when none was nigh ; 
 
 Had but the scarf he kissed with piteous cry 
 But breathed again its secret unto her. 
 
 Or had but one of every little sigh 
 Each left for each been love's true messenger : 
 They surely had not kept that winter all the year.
 
 10 PAOLO AND FRANCESCA 
 
 Yea ! love lay hushed and waitin<f like a seed. 
 
 Some laggard of the season still abed 
 Though the sun calls and gentle zephyrs plead, 
 
 And Hope that waited long must deem it dead ; 
 
 Yet lo ! to-morrow sees its shining head 
 Singing at dawn 'mid all the garden throng : 
 
 Ah, had it known, it had been earlier sped — 
 Was it for fear of day it slept so long. 
 Or were its dreams of singing sweeter than the song ? 
 
 But what poor flower can symbol all the might 
 
 And all the magnitude, great Love, of thee ? 
 Ah, is there aught can image thee aright 
 
 In earth or heaven, how great or fair it be ? 
 
 We watch the acorn grow into the tree. 
 We watch the patient spark surprise the mine. 
 
 But what are oaks to thy Ygdrasil-tree ? 
 What the mad mine's convulsive strength to thine. 
 That wrecks a world but bids heaven's soaring 
 
 steeples shine ? 
 
 A god that hath no earthly metaphor, 
 
 A blinding word that hath no earthly rhyme, 
 
 Love ! we can only call and no name more ; 
 As the great lonely thunder rolls sublime, 
 As the great sun doth solitary climb.
 
 PAOLO AND FRANCESCA 11 
 
 And we have but themselves to know them by. 
 
 Just so Love stands a stranger amid Time : 
 The god is there, the great voice speaks on high, 
 We pray, ' What art thou. Lord ?' but win us no reply. 
 
 So in the dark grew Love, but feared to flower, 
 
 Dreamed to himself, but never spake a word, 
 Burned like a prisoned fire from hour to hour. 
 
 Sang his dear song like an unheeded bird ; 
 
 Waiting the summoning voice so long unheard. 
 Waiting with weary eyes the gracious sign 
 
 To bring his rose, and tell the dream he dared. 
 The tremulous moment when the star should shine. 
 And each should ask of each, and each should answer 
 — ' Thine.' 
 
 Winter to-day, but lo ! to-morrow spring ! 
 
 They waited long, but oh at last it came. 
 Came in a silver hush at evening ; 
 
 Francesca toyed with threads upon a frame. 
 
 Hard by young Paolo read of knight and dame 
 That long ago had loved and passed away : 
 
 He had no other way to tell his flame. 
 She dare not listen any other way — 
 But even that was bliss to lovers poor as they. 
 
 The world grew sweet with wonder in the west 
 The while he read and while she listened there,
 
 12 PAOLO AND FRANCESCA 
 
 And many a dream from out its silken nest 
 Stole like a curling incense throuf^h the air ; 
 Yet looked she not on him, nor did he dare : 
 
 But when the lovers kissed in Paradise 
 
 His voice sank and he turned his gaze on her, 
 
 Like a young bird that flutters ere it flies, — 
 And lo ! a shining angel called him from her eyes. 
 
 Then from the silence sprang a kiss like flame. 
 And they hung lost together; while around 
 
 The world was changed, no more to be the same 
 Meadow or sky, no little flower or sound 
 Again the same, for earth grew holy ground : 
 
 While in the silence of the mounting moon 
 Infinite love throbbed in the straining bound 
 
 Of that great kiss, the long-delaying boon, 
 Granted indeed at last, but ended, ah ! so soon. 
 
 As the great sobbing fulness of the sea 
 
 Fills to the throat some void and aching cave, 
 Till all its hollows tremble silently. 
 
 Pressed with sweet weight of softly - lapping 
 wave : 
 
 So kissed those mighty lovers glad and brave. 
 And as a sky from which the sun has gone 
 
 Trembles all night with all the stars he gave —
 
 PAOLO AND FRANCESCA 13 
 
 A firmament of memories of the sun, — 
 So thrilled and thrilled each life when that great 
 kiss was done. 
 
 But coward shame that had no word to say 
 In passion's hour, with sudden icy clang 
 Slew the bright morn, and through the tarnished 
 day 
 An iron bell from light to darkness rang : 
 She shut her ears because a throstle sang. 
 She dare not hear the little innocent bird, 
 
 Andawhite flower made her poor head to hang — 
 To be so white ! once she was white as curd, 
 But now — ' Alack ! ' " Alack ! ' She speaks no other 
 word. 
 
 The pearly line on yonder hills afar 
 
 Within the dawn, when mounts the lark and 
 sings 
 By the great angel of the morning star, — 
 
 That was his love, and all fi'ee fair fresh things 
 
 Thatmove and glitter while the daylight springs : 
 To thus know love, and yet to spoil love thus ! 
 
 To lose the dream — O silly beating wings — 
 Great dream so splendid and miraculous : 
 O Lord, O Lord, have mercy, have mercy upon us.
 
 14 PAOLO AND FRANCESCA 
 
 She turned her mind upon the holy ones 
 
 Whose love lost here was love in heaven tenfold, 
 She thought of Lucy, that most blessed of nuns 
 Who sent her blue eyes on a plate of gold 
 To him who wooed her daily for her love — 
 ' Mine eyes ! ' ' Mine eyes !' ' Here, — go in peace, 
 they are ! ' 
 But ever love came through the midnight grove, 
 Young Love, with wild eyes watching from afar. 
 And called and called and called until the morning 
 star. 
 
 Ah, poor Francesca, 'tis not such as thou 
 That up the stony steeps of heaven climb ; 
 
 Take thou thy heaven with thy Paolo now — 
 Sweet saint of sin, saint of a deathless rhyme, 
 Song shall defend thee at the bar of Time, 
 
 Dante shall set thy fair young glowing face 
 
 On the dark background of his theme sublime, 
 
 And Thou and He in your superb disgrace 
 Still on that golden wind of passion shall embrace. 
 
 So love this twain, but whither have they passed ? 
 
 Ah me, that dark must always follow day, 
 That Love's last kiss is surely kissed at last, 
 
 Howe'er so wildly the poor lips may pray :
 
 PAOLO AND FRANCESCA 15 
 
 Merciful God, is there no other way ? 
 And pen, O must thou of the ending write, 
 
 The hour Lanciotto found them where they lay. 
 Folded together, weary with delight. 
 Within the sumptuous petals of the rose of night. 
 
 Yea, for Lanciotto found them : many an hour. 
 Ere their dear joy had run its doomed date. 
 
 Had they, in silken nook and blossomed bower, 
 All unsuspect the blessed apple ate. 
 Who now must grind its core predestinate. 
 
 Kiss, kiss, poor losing lovers, nor deny 
 One little tremor of its bliss, for Fate 
 
 Cometh upon you, and the dark is nigh 
 Where all, unkissed, unkissing, learn at length 
 to lie. 
 
 Bent on some journey of the state's concern 
 They deemed him, and indeed he rode thereon 
 
 But questioned Paolo — ' What if he return ! ' 
 ' Nay, love, indeed he is securely gone 
 As thou art surely here, beloved one. 
 
 He went ere sundown, and our moon is here — 
 A fear, love, in this heart that yet knew none ! ' 
 
 How could he fright that little velvet ear 
 With last night's dream and all its ghostly fear !
 
 K; PAOLO AND KRANCESCA 
 
 So did he yield him to her cancer breast, 
 
 And half forgot, but could not quite forget, 
 No sweetest kiss could put that fear to rest, 
 
 And all its haggard vision chilled him yet; 
 
 Their warder moon in nameless trouble set, 
 There seemed a traitor echo in the place, 
 
 A moaning wind that moaned for lovers met. 
 And once above her head's deep sunk embrace 
 He saw — Death at the window with his yellow face. 
 
 Had that same dream caught old Lanciotto's reins. 
 Bent in a weary huddle on his steed. 
 
 In darkling haste along the blindfold lanes. 
 Making a clattering halt in all that speed : — 
 ' Fool ! fool ! ' he cried, ' O dotard fool, indeed, 
 
 So ho ! they wanton while the old man rides,' 
 And on the night flashed pictures of the deed. 
 
 ' Come ! ' — and he dug his charger's panting sides. 
 And all the homeward dark tore by in roaring tides. 
 
 As some great lord of acres when a thief 
 
 Steals from his park some flower he never sees, 
 Calls it a lily fair beyond belief, 
 
 Prisons the wretch, and fines before he frees ; 
 
 Such jealous madness did Lanciotto seize : 
 All in an instant is Francescu dear. 
 
 He claims the wife he never cared to please.
 
 PAOLO AND FRANCESCA 17 
 
 All in an instant seems his castle near, — 
 And those poor lovers sleep, forgot at last their fear. 
 
 His horse left steaming at his journey's end. 
 Up through his palace stairs with springing tread 
 
 He strode ; the silence met him like a friend, 
 Fain to dissuade him from that deed of dread, 
 Making a breeze about his burning head. 
 
 Laying large hands of comfort on his soul ; 
 Within the ashes of his cheek burned red 
 
 A long-shut rose of youth, as to the goal 
 Of death he sped, as once to love's own tryst he stole. 
 
 He caught a sound as of a rose's breath, 
 He caught another breath of deeper lung, 
 
 Rose-leaves and oak-leaves on the wind of death ; 
 He drew aside the arras where they clung 
 In the dim light, so lovely and so young — 
 
 They lay in sin as in a cradle there. 
 
 Twin babes that in one bosom nestling hung : 
 
 Even Lanciotto paused, ah, will he spare .'' 
 Who could not quite forgive a wrong that is so fair ! 
 
 The grave old clock ticked somewhere in the 
 gloom, 
 A dozen waiting seconds rose and fell
 
 18 PAOLO AND FRANCESCA 
 
 Ere his pale dagger flickered in the room, 
 
 Then quenched its corpse-Hght in tlieir bosoms' 
 swell — 
 ' Thus, dears, I mate you evermore in hell.* 
 Their blood ran warm about them and they sighed 
 
 For the mad smiter did his work too well, 
 Just drew together softly and so died, 
 Fell very still and strange, and moved not side by 
 side. 
 
 Yea, moved not, though two hours he watched 
 the twain 
 And heard their blood drip drip upon the floor. 
 Twice with stern voice he spake to them again, 
 And then, a little tenderly, once more, — 
 * Thus, dears, in hell I mate you evermore.' 
 And when the curious fingers of the day 
 
 Unravelled all the dark, and morning wore, 
 And the young light played round them where 
 they lay. 
 The souls were many leagues upon the hellward 
 way.
 
 YOUNG LOVE
 
 N.B, — This sequence of poems has appeared informer 
 editions under the title of ' Love Platonic'
 
 Surely at last, Lady, the sweet moon 
 
 That bringeth in the happy sifiging weather 
 Groweth to pearly queendom, and full soon 
 
 Shall Love and Song go hand in hand together; 
 For all the pain that all too long hath waited 
 
 In deep dumb darkness shall have speech at last, 
 And the bright babe Death gave the Love he mated 
 
 Shall leap to light and kiss the weeping past. 
 
 For all the silver morning is a-glimmer 
 
 With gleaming spears of great Apollo's host, 
 And the night fadeth like a spent out swimmer 
 
 Hurled from the headlands of some shining coast. 
 0, happy soul, thy mouth at last is singing, 
 
 Drunken with fvine of morning's azure deep, 
 Sing on, my soul, the world beneath thee swinging, 
 
 A bough of song above a sea of sleep. 
 
 2 
 
 Who is the lady I sing ? 
 
 Ah, how can I tell thee her praise 
 
 21
 
 22 YOUNG LOVE 
 
 For whom all mil life's but ihe siring 
 Of n rosarij painful of days ; 
 
 Which I count with a curious smile 
 As a miser who hoardeth his gain, 
 
 Though, a mudhcarted spendthrift the while, 
 I but gather to waste again. 
 
 Yea, I pluck from the tree of the years. 
 As a country maid greedy of flowers. 
 
 Each day brimming over with tears, 
 And I scatter like petals its hours ; 
 
 And I trample them under my feet 
 In a frenzy of cloven-hoof ed swine. 
 
 And the breath of their dying w S7veet, 
 And the blood of their hearts is as wine. 
 
 0, I throw me low down on the ground 
 And I bury my face in their death, 
 
 And only I rise at the sound 
 Of a wind as it scatterelh. 
 
 As it scattereth sweetly the dried 
 Leaves withered and brittle and sere 
 
 Of days of old years that have died — 
 And, 0, it is sweet in my ear !
 
 YOUNG LOVE 23 
 
 Aiid I rise me and build me a pyre 
 
 Of the whispering skeleton things, 
 And my heart laugheth low with the fire, 
 
 Laugheth high with the jiame as it springs ; 
 
 And above in the Jlickering glare 
 
 I mark me the boughs of my tree. 
 My tree of the years, growing bare. 
 
 Growing bare with the scant days to be. 
 
 Then I turn to my beads and I pray 
 For the axe at the root of the tree — 
 
 Last flotver, last bead — ah ! last day 
 
 That shall part me, my darling, from thee ! 
 
 And I pray for the knife on the string 
 
 Of this rosary painful of days : 
 But who is the Lady I sing ? 
 
 Ah, how can I tell thee her praise ! 
 
 II 
 
 I make this rhyme of my lady and me 
 
 To give me ease of my misery, 
 
 Of my lady and me I make this rhyme 
 
 For lovers in the after-time. 
 
 And I weave its warp from day to day 
 
 In a golden loom deep hid away
 
 24 YOUNG U)VE 
 
 In my secret heart, where no one goes 
 But my lady's self, and — no one knows. 
 
 With bended head all day I pore 
 
 On a joyless task, and yet before 
 
 My eyes all day, through each weary hour. 
 
 Breathes my lady's face like a dewy flower. 
 
 Like rain it comes through the dusty air, 
 
 Like sun on the meadows to think of her ; 
 
 O sweet as violets in early spring 
 
 The flower-girls to the city bring, 
 
 O, healing-bright to wintry eyes 
 
 As primrose-gold 'neath northern skies — 
 
 But O for fit thing to compare 
 
 With the joy I have in the thought of her ! 
 
 So all day long doth her holy face 
 
 Bring fragrance to the barren place. 
 
 And whensoe'er it comes nearest me, 
 
 My loom it weaveth busily. 
 
 Some days there be when the loom is still 
 
 And my soul is sad as an autumn hill. 
 
 But how to tell the blessed time 
 
 When my heart is one glowing prayer of rhyme ! 
 
 Think on the humming afternoon 
 
 Within some busy wood in June, 
 
 When nettle patches, drunk with the sun.
 
 YOUNG LOVE 25 
 
 Are fiery outposts of the shade ; 
 
 While gnats keep up a dizzy reel, 
 
 And the grasshopper, perched upon his blade. 
 
 Loud drones his fairy threshing-wheel : — 
 
 Hour when some poet-wit might feign 
 
 The drowsy tune of the throbbing air 
 
 The weaving of the gossamer 
 
 In secret nooks of wood and lane — 
 
 The gossamer, silk night-robes of the flowers, 
 
 Fluttered apart by amorous morning hours. 
 
 Yea, as the weaving of the gossamer. 
 
 If truly that the mystic golden boom. 
 
 Is the strange rapture of my hidden loom. 
 
 As I sit in the light of the thought of her ; 
 
 And it weaveth, weaveth, day by day. 
 
 This parti-coloured roundelay ; 
 
 Weaving for ease of misery. 
 
 Weaving this rhyme of my lady and me^ 
 
 Weaving, weaving this warp of rhyme 
 
 For lovers in the after-time. 
 
 My lady, lover, may never be mine 
 
 In the same sweet way that thine is thine. 
 
 My lady and I may never stand 
 
 By the holy altar hand in hand. 
 
 My lady and I may never rest 
 
 Through the golden midnight breast to breast.
 
 2G YOUNG LOVE 
 
 Nor share loii^r days of happy li^ht 
 Sweet movin<f in each otlier's sight : 
 Yea, even must we ever miss 
 The honey of the chastest kiss. 
 
 Ill 
 
 But, Song, arise thee on a greater wing. 
 
 Nor twitter robin-like of love, nor sing 
 
 A pretty dalliance with grief — but try 
 
 Some metre like a sky. 
 
 Wherein to set 
 
 Stars that may linger yet 
 
 When I, thy master, shall have come to die. 
 
 Twitter and tweet 
 
 Thy carollings 
 
 Of little things. 
 Of fair and sweet ; 
 For it is meet, 
 
 O robin red ! 
 That little theme 
 
 Hath little song. 
 
 That little head 
 Hath little dream. 
 
 And long. 
 
 But we have starry business, such a grief 
 As Autumn's, dead by some forgotten sheaf,
 
 YOUNG LOVE 27 
 
 While all the distance echoes of the wain ; 
 Grief as an ocean's for some sudden isle 
 Of living green that stayed with it a while, 
 
 Then to oblivious deluge plunged again ! 
 Grief as of Alps that yearn but never reach, 
 
 Grief as of Death for Life, of Night for Day : 
 Such grief, O Song, how hast thou strength to 
 teach. 
 
 How hope to make assay ? 
 
 IV 
 
 ONCE 
 
 Once we met, and then there came 
 Like a Pentecostal flame, 
 
 A word ; 
 And I said not. 
 Only thought. 
 
 She heard ! 
 All I never say but sing. 
 Worshipping ; 
 
 Wrapt in the hidden tongue 
 Of an ambiguous song. 
 
 How we met what need to say ? 
 
 WTien or where. 
 Years ago or yesterday. 
 
 Here or there.
 
 28 youm; love 
 
 All the sonjT is — once wc met, 
 
 She and I ; 
 Once, but never to forget. 
 
 Till we die. 
 
 All the song is that we meet 
 
 Never now — 
 ' Hast thou yet forgotten, sweet?' 
 
 ' Love, hast thou ? ' 
 
 THE DAY OF THE TWO DAFFODILS 
 
 ' The daffodils are fine this year,' I said ; 
 
 ' O yes, but see my crocuses,' said she. 
 
 And so we entered in and sat at talk 
 
 Within a little parlour bowered about 
 
 With garden-noises, filled with garden scent. 
 
 As some sweet sea-shell rings with pearly chimes 
 
 And sighs out fragrance of its mother's breast. 
 
 We sat at talk, and all the afternoon 
 Whispered about in changing silences 
 Of flush and sudden light and gathering shade. 
 As though some Maestro drew out organ stops 
 Somewhere in heaven. As two within a boat
 
 YOUNG LOVE 29 
 
 On the wide sea we sat at talk, the hours 
 Lapping unheeded round us as the waves. 
 And as such two will ofttimes pause in speech, 
 Gaze at high heaven and draw deep to their hearts 
 The infinite azure, then meet eyes again 
 And flash it to each other ; without words 
 First, and then with voice trembling as trumpets 
 Tremble with fierce breath, voice cadenced too 
 As deep as the deep sea, ^olian voice, 
 Voice of star-spaces, and the pine-wood's voice 
 In dewy mornings, Life's own awful voice : 
 So did we talk, gazing with God's own eyes 
 Into Life's deeps — ah, how they throbbed with stars ! 
 And were we not ourselves like pulsing suns 
 Who, once an aeon met within the void. 
 So fiery close, forget how far away 
 Each orbit sweeps, and dream a little space 
 Of fiery wedding. So our hearts made answering 
 Lightnings all that afternoon through purple mists 
 Of riddled speech ; and when at last the sun. 
 Our sentinel, made sign beneath the trees 
 Of coming night, and we arose and passed 
 Across the threshold to the flowers again. 
 We knew a presence walking in the grove. 
 And a voice speaking through the evening's cool 
 Unknown before : though Love had wrought no 
 wrong,
 
 .30 YOUNG LOVE 
 
 His rune was spoken, and another rhyme 
 Writ in his poem by the master Life. 
 
 ' Pray, phiek me some,' I said. She brought me two. 
 For daffodils were very fine that year, — 
 O very fine, but daffodils no more. 
 
 VI 
 
 WHY DID SHE MARRY HIM.? 
 
 Why did she marry him ? Ah, say why ! 
 
 How was her fancy caught ? 
 What was the dream that he drew her by. 
 
 Or was she only bought .'' 
 Gave she her gold for a girlish whim, 
 
 A freak of a foolish mood .-' 
 Or was it some will, like a snake in him. 
 
 Lay a charm upon her blood .'' 
 
 Love of his limbs, was it that, think you .-* 
 
 Body of bullock build. 
 Sap in the bones, and spring in the thew, 
 
 A lusty youth unspilled .? 
 But is it so that a maid is won. 
 
 Such a maiden maid as she .'' 
 Her face like a lily all white in the sun. 
 
 For such mere male as he !
 
 YOUNG LOVE 31 
 
 Ahj why do the fields with their white and 
 gold 
 
 To Farmer Clod belong, 
 Who though he hath reaped and stacked and 
 sold 
 
 Hath never heard their song ? 
 Nay, seek not an answer, comfort ye, 
 
 The poet heard their call. 
 And so, dear Love, will I comfort me — 
 
 He hath thy lease, that's all. 
 
 VII 
 
 THE LAMP AND THE STAR 
 
 Yea, let me be ' thy bachelere,' 
 
 'Tis sweeter than thy lord ; 
 How should I envy him, my dear, 
 
 The lamp upon his board. 
 Still make his little circle bright 
 With boon of dear domestic light, 
 
 While I afar. 
 Watching his windows in the night, 
 
 Worship a star 
 For which he hath no bolt or bar. 
 
 Yea, dear, 
 
 Thy ' bachelere.'
 
 32 Yf)lJN(; LOVE 
 
 VIII 
 
 ORBITS 
 
 Two stars once on their lonely way 
 
 Met in the heavenly height, 
 And they dreamed a dream they might shine 
 alway 
 
 With undivided light ; 
 Melt into one with a breathless throe, 
 
 And beam as one in the night. 
 
 And each forgot in the dream so strange 
 
 How desolately far 
 Swept on each path, for who shall change 
 
 The orbit of a star ? 
 Yea, all was a dream, and they still must go 
 
 As lonely as they are. 
 
 IX 
 
 NEVER— EVER 
 
 My mouth to thy mouth 
 
 Ah never, ah never ! 
 My breast from thy breast 
 
 Eternities sever ; 
 But my soul to thy soul 
 
 For ever and ever.
 
 YOUNG LOVE 33 
 
 LOVE'S POOR 
 
 Yea, love, I know, and I would have it thus, 
 
 I know that not for us 
 
 Is springtide Passion with his fire and flowers, 
 
 I know this love of ours 
 
 Lives not, nor yet may live, 
 
 By the dear food that lips and hands can give. 
 
 Not, Love, that we in some high dream despise 
 
 The common lover's common Pai*adise ; 
 
 Ah, God, if Thou and I 
 
 But one short hour their blessedness might try, 
 
 How could we poor ones teach 
 
 Those happy ones who half forget them rich : 
 
 For if we thus endure, 
 
 'Tis only, love, because we are so poor, 
 
 XI 
 
 COMFORT OF DANTE 
 
 Down where the unconquered river still flows on, 
 One strong free thing within a prison's heart, 
 I drew me with my sacred grief apart. 
 That it might look that spacious joy upon : 
 And as I mused, lo ! Dante walked with me. 
 And his face spake of the high peace of pain
 
 .14 YOUNG L()\'E 
 
 Till ;ill my frrief flowed in nie thrnbbin<Tly 
 As in some lily's heart mi^ht glow the rain. 
 
 So like a star I listened, till mine eye 
 
 Caught that lone land across the water-way 
 Wherein my lady breathed,— now breathing is- 
 ' O Dante,' then I said, ' she more than I 
 Should know thy comfort, go to her, I pray.' 
 ' Nay ! ' answered he, ' for she hath Beatrice,' 
 
 XII 
 
 A LOST HOUR 
 
 God gave us an hour for our tears, 
 One hour out of all the years, 
 For all the years were another's gold. 
 Given in a cruel troth of old. 
 
 And how did we spend his boon .'' 
 
 That sweet miraculous flower 
 
 Born to die in an hour, 
 Late bom to die so soon. 
 
 Did we watch it with breathless breath 
 By slow degrees unfold ? 
 
 Did we taste the innermost heart of it 
 The honey of each sweet part of it } 
 Suck all its hidden gold 
 To the very dregs of its death .''
 
 YOUNG LOVE 35 
 
 Nay^ this is all we did with our hour — 
 We tore it to pieces, that precious flower ; 
 Like any daisy, with listless mirth. 
 We shed its petals upon the earth ; 
 And, children-like, when it all was done, 
 We cried unto God for another one. 
 
 XIII 
 
 MET ONCE MORE 
 
 O Lady, I have looked on thee once more. 
 Thou too hast looked on me, as thou hadst said. 
 And though the joy was pain, the pain was bliss. 
 Bliss that more happy lovers well may miss : 
 Captives feast richly on a little bread, 
 So are we very rich who are so poor. 
 
 XIV 
 
 A JUNE LILY 
 
 \The poet dramatises his Lady's loneHness'\ 
 
 Alone ! once more alone ! how like a tomb 
 My little parlour sounds which only now 
 Yearned like some holy chancel with his voice. 
 So still ! so empty ! Surely one might fear 
 The walls should meet in ruinous collapse 
 That held no more his music. Yet they stand
 
 36 YOUNG LOVE 
 
 Firm in a foolish firmness, meaningless 
 As frescoed sepiilclire some Pharaoh built 
 But never came to sleep in ; built, indeed, 
 For — that grey moth to flit in like a ghost ! 
 
 Alone ! another feast-day come and gone, 
 
 Watched through the weeks as in my garden there 
 
 I watch a seedling grow from blade to bud 
 
 Impatient for its blossom. So this day 
 
 Has bloomed at last, and we have plucked its flower 
 
 And shared its sweetness, and once more the time 
 
 Is as that stalk from which but now I plucked 
 
 Its last June-lily as a parting sign. 
 
 Yea, but he seemed to love it ! yet if he 
 
 But craved it in deceit of tenderness 
 
 To make my heart glow brighter with a lie ! 
 
 Will it indeed be cherished as he said, 
 
 Or will he keep it near his book a while. 
 
 And when grown rank forget it in his glass. 
 
 And leave it for the maid who dusts his room 
 
 To clear away and cast upon the heap .'' 
 
 Or, may be, will he bury it away 
 
 In some old drawer with other mummy-flowers ? 
 
 Nay, but I wrong thee, dear one, thinking so. 
 My boy, my love, my poet ! Nay, I know 
 Thy lonely room, tomb-like to thee as mine. 
 Tomb-like as tomb of some retunimg ghost
 
 YOUNG LOVE 37 
 
 Seems only bright about my lily-flower. 
 
 And, mayhap, while I wrong thee thus in thought 
 
 Thou bendest o'er it, feigning for some ease 
 
 Of parted ache conceits of poet-wit 
 
 On petal and on stamen — let me try ! 
 
 If lilies be alike thine is as this, 
 
 I wonder if thy reading tallies too. 
 
 Six petals with a dewdrop in their heart. 
 
 Six pure brave years, an ivory cup of tears ; 
 
 Six pearly-pillared stamens golden-crowned 
 
 Growing from out the dewdrop, and a seventh 
 
 Soaring alone trilobed and mystic green ; 
 
 Six pearl-bright years aflower with gold of joy, 
 
 Sprung from the heart of those brave tear-fed years : 
 
 But what that seventh single stamen is 
 
 My little wit must leave for thee to tell. 
 
 But neither poet nor a sibyl thou ! 
 What brave conceit had he, my poet, built ; 
 No jugglery of numbers that mean nought, 
 That can mean nought for ever, unto us. 
 
 XV 
 
 REGRET 
 
 One asked of regret, 
 And I made reply :
 
 38 YOUNG LOVE 
 
 To have held the bird, 
 
 And let it fly ; 
 To have seen the star 
 
 For a moment nigh, 
 And lost it 
 
 Through a slothful eye ; 
 To have plucked the flower 
 
 And cast it by ; 
 To have one only hope — 
 
 To die. 
 
 XVI 
 
 LOVE AFAR 
 
 Love, art thou lonely to-day ? 
 
 Lost love that I never see, 
 Love that, come noon or come night, 
 
 Comes never to me ; 
 Love that I used to meet 
 
 In the hidden past, in the land 
 Of forbidden sweet. 
 
 Love ! do you never miss 
 The old light in the days .-» 
 Does a hand
 
 YOUNG LOVE 39 
 
 Come and touch thee at whiles 
 Like the wand of old smiles. 
 Like the breath of old bliss ? 
 Or hast thou forgot, 
 And is all as if not ? 
 
 What was it we swore ? 
 
 ' Evermore ! 
 
 I and Thou,' 
 Ah, but Fate held the pen 
 
 And wrote N 
 
 Just before : 
 
 So that now. 
 See, it stands. 
 Our seals and our hands, 
 
 ' I and Thou, 
 
 Nevermore ! ' 
 
 We said 'It is best!' 
 
 And then, dear, I went 
 
 And returned not again. 
 
 Forgive that I stir, 
 
 Like a breath in thy hair, 
 
 The old pain, 
 
 'Twas unmeant. 
 
 I will strive, I will wrest 
 
 Iron peace — it is best.
 
 40 YOUNG LOVE 
 
 Rut, O for thy hand 
 
 Just to hold for a space, 
 For a moment to stand 
 
 In the Hght of thy face ; 
 Translate Then to Now, 
 To hear ' Is it Thou ? ' 
 
 And reply 
 
 'It is I!' 
 Then, then I could rest, 
 Ah, then I could wait 
 
 Long and late. 
 
 XVII 
 
 Canst thou be true across so many miles, 
 So many days that keep us still apart ? 
 
 Ah, canst thou live upon remembered smiles, 
 And ask no warmer comfort for thy heart ? 
 
 I call thy name right up into the sky. 
 
 Dear name, O surely she shall hear and hark ! 
 
 Nay, though I toss it singing up so high. 
 It drops again, like yon returning lark. 
 
 O be a dove, dear name, and find her breast. 
 There croon and croodle all the lonely day ; 
 
 Go tell her that I love her still the best, 
 So many days, so many miles, away.
 
 POSTSCRIPT 
 
 So sang young hove in high and holy dream 
 Of a white Love that hath no earthly taint. 
 
 So rapt within his vision he did seem 
 Less like a boyish singer than a saint. 
 
 Ah, Boy, it is a dream for life too high, 
 It is a bird that hath no feet for earth : 
 
 Strange wings, strange eyes, go seek another sky 
 And find thy fellows of an equal birth. 
 
 For many a body-sweet material thing. 
 
 What canst thou give us half so dear as these ? 
 
 We would not soar amid the stars to sing, 
 Wainn and content amid the nested trees. 
 
 Young Seraph, go and take thy song to heaven, 
 We would not grow unhappy with our lot. 
 
 Leave us the simple love the earth hath given — 
 Si7ig ivhere thoxc wilt, so that we hear thee not. 
 
 41
 
 COR CORDIUM
 
 TO MY WIFE, MILDRED 
 
 Dear wife, there is no word iw all my songs 
 But unto thee belongs : 
 Though I indeed before our true day came 
 Mistook thy star in many a wandering jiame, 
 Singing to thee in many a fair disguise, 
 Calling to thee in many another's name, 
 Before I knew thine everlasting eyes. 
 
 Faces that fled me like a hinted fawn 
 I followed singing, deeming it was Thou, 
 Seeking this face that on our pillow now 
 Glimmers behind thy golden hair like dawn, 
 And, like a setting moo7i, 7vithin my breast 
 Sinks down each night to rest. 
 
 Moon follows moon before the great moon flowers. 
 Moon of the wild wild honey that is ours ; 
 Long must the tree strive up in leaf and root. 
 Before it bear the golden-hearted fruit : 
 And shall great Love at once perfected spring, 
 Nor grow by stej)S like any other thing ? 
 
 46
 
 4r, (OK ( oiinirT.M 
 
 The lawless lull- llial would not he denied. 
 The love that waited, ami in waiting died, 
 The love that met and mated, satisjied. 
 
 Ah, love, 'twas good to climb forbidden nails, 
 Who 7vould not follow where his Juliet calls ? 
 ' Twas good to try and love the angel's way. 
 With starry souls untainted of the clay ; 
 But, best the love where earth and heaven meet, 
 The god madefesh and dwelling in us, sweet. 
 
 (October 22, 1891.)
 
 THE DESTINED MAID: A PRAYER 
 
 (Chant Royal) 
 
 MIGHTY Queen, our Lady of the fire. 
 The light, the music, and the honey, all 
 
 Blent in one Power, one passionate Desire 
 
 Man calleth Love — ' Sweet love,' the blessed 
 call — : 
 
 1 come a sad-eyed suppliant to thy knee. 
 If thou hast pity, pity grant to me ; 
 
 If thou hast bounty, here a heart I bring 
 For all that bounty 'thirst and hungering. 
 
 Lady, save thy grace, there is no way 
 For me, I know, but lonely sorrowing — 
 
 Send me a maiden meet for love, I pray ! 
 
 1 lay in darkness, face down in the mire. 
 
 And prayed that darkness might become my 
 pall; 
 The rabble rout roared round me like some quire 
 Of filthy animals primordial ; 
 
 47
 
 48 COR CORDIUM 
 
 My heart seemed like a toad eternally 
 
 Prisoned in stone, ugly and sad as he ; 
 
 Sweet sunlight seemed a dream, a mythic thing. 
 And life some beldam's dotard gossiping. 
 
 Then, Lady, I bethought me of thy sway. 
 
 And hoped again, rose up this prayer to wing — 
 
 Send me a maiden meet for love, I pray ! 
 
 Lady, I bear no high resounding lyre 
 To hymn thy glory, and thy foes appal 
 
 With thunderous splendour of my rhythmic ire ; 
 A little lute I lightly touch and small 
 
 My skill thereon : yet. Lady, if it be 
 
 I ever woke ear-winning melody, 
 
 'Twas for thy praise I sought the throbbing string. 
 Thy praise alone — for all my worshipping 
 
 Is at thy shrine, thou knowest, day by day, 
 Then shall it be in vain my plaint to sing ? — 
 
 Send me a maiden meet for love, I pray ! 
 
 Yea ! why of all men should this sorrow dire 
 
 Unto thy servant bitterly befall ? 
 For, Lady, thou dost know I ne'er did tire 
 
 Of thy sweet sacraments and ritual ; 
 In morning meadows I have knelt to thee. 
 In noontide woodlands hearkened hushedly 
 
 Thy heart's warm beat in sacred slumbering.
 
 COR CORDIUM 49 
 
 And in the spaces of the night heard ring 
 Thy voice in answer to the spheral lay : 
 
 Now 'neath thy throne my suppliant life I fling — 
 Send me a maiden meet for love, I pray ! 
 
 I ask no maid for all men to admire. 
 
 Mere body's beauty hath in me no thrall. 
 
 And noble birth, and sumptuous attire. 
 
 Are gauds I crave not — yet shall have withal, 
 
 With a sweet difference, in my heart's own She, 
 
 Whom words speak not but eyes know when they 
 see. 
 Beauty beyond all glass's mirroring, 
 And dream and glory hers for garmenting ; 
 
 Her birth — O Lady, wilt thou say me nay ? — 
 Of thine own womb, of thine own nurturing — 
 
 Send me a maiden meet for love, I pray ! 
 
 ENVOI 
 
 Sweet Queen who sittest at the heart of spring. 
 My life is thine, barren or blossoming ; 
 
 'Tis thine to flush it gold or leave it grey : 
 And so unto thy ganment's hem I cling — 
 
 Send me a maiden meet for love, I pray. 
 
 {Januanj 13, 1888.) 
 
 D
 
 •W coil CORUIUM 
 
 WITH SOME OLD LOVE VERSES 
 
 Dear Heart, this is my book of boyish song, 
 The changing story of the wandering quest 
 That found at last its ending in thy breast — 
 
 The love it sought and sang astray so long 
 
 With wild young heart and happy eager tongue. 
 Much meant it all to me to seek and sing, 
 Ah, Love, but how much more to-day to bring 
 
 This 'rhyme that first of all he made when young.' 
 
 Take it and love it, 'tis the prophecy 
 
 For whose poor silver thou hast given me gold ; 
 Yea ! those old faces for an hour seemed fair 
 Only because some hints of Thee they were : 
 Judge then, if I so loved weak types of old. 
 How good, dear Heart, the perfect gift of Thee.
 
 COR CORDIUM 61 
 
 IN A COPY OF MR. SWINBURNE'S 
 TRISTRAM OF LYONESSE 
 
 Dear Heart, what thing may symboUse for us 
 A love like ours, what gift, whate'er it be. 
 Hold more significance 'twixt thee and me 
 
 Than paltry words a truth miraculous ; 
 
 Or the poor signs that in astronomy 
 
 Tell giant splendours in their gleaming might : 
 Yet love would still give such, as in delight 
 
 To mock their impotence — so this for thee. 
 
 This song for thee ! our sweetest honeycomb 
 
 Of lovesome thought and passion-hearted rhyme, 
 
 Builded of gold and kisses and desire. 
 By that wild poet who so many a time 
 
 Our hungering lips have blessed, until a fire 
 Burnt speech up and the wordless hour had come.
 
 62 COR COUDinM 
 
 COMFORT AT PARTING 
 
 O LITTLE Heart, 
 So much I see 
 Thy hidden smart, 
 So much I long 
 To sing some song 
 To comfort thee. 
 
 For, little Heart, 
 Indeed, indeed, 
 The hour to part 
 Makes cruel speed ; 
 Yet, dear, think thou 
 How even now. 
 With happy haste, 
 With eager feet. 
 The hour when we 
 Again shall meet 
 Cometh across the waste.
 
 COR CORDIUM 53 
 
 HAPPY LETTER 
 
 Fly, little note. 
 And know no rest 
 Till warm you lie 
 Within that nest 
 Which is her breast ; 
 Though why to thee 
 Such joy should be 
 Who carest not, 
 While I must wait 
 Here desolate, 
 I cannot wot. 
 O what I 'd do 
 To come with you !
 
 64 COR CORDIUM 
 
 PRIMROSE AND VIOLET . 
 
 Primrose and Violet — | 
 
 May they help thee to forget 
 
 All that love should not remember. 
 
 Sweet as meadows after rain i 
 
 When the sun has come again, { 
 
 As woods awakened from December. , 
 
 How they wash the soul from stain ! [ 
 
 How they set the spirit free ! ' 
 
 Take them, dear, and pray for me. '
 
 COR CORDIUM 66 
 
 'JULIET AND HER ROMEO' 
 
 (With Mr. Dicksee's Picture) 
 
 Take ' this of Juliet and her Romeo/ 
 
 Dear Heart of mine, for though yon budding sky 
 Yearns o'er Verona, and so long ago 
 
 That kiss was kissed ; yet surely Thou and I, 
 Surely it is, whom morning tears apart. 
 
 As ruthless men tear tendrilled ivy down : 
 
 Is not Verona warm within thy gown, 
 And Mantua all the world save where thou art ? 
 
 O happy grace of lovers of old time, 
 
 Living to love like gods, and dead to live 
 
 Symbols and saints for us who follow them ; 
 Even bitter Death must sweets to lovers give : 
 See how they wear their tears for diadem, 
 Throned on the star of an unshaken rhyme.
 
 •'56 (OK CORDIUM 
 
 IN HER DIARY 
 
 Go, little book, and be the looking-glass 
 
 Of her clear soul, 
 The mirror of her moments as they pass. 
 
 Keeping the whole ; 
 Wherein she still may look on yesterday 
 
 To-day to cheer, 
 And towards To-morrow pass upon her way 
 
 Without a fear. 
 For yesterday hath never won a crown. 
 
 However fair. 
 But that To-day a better for its own 
 
 Might win and wear ; 
 And yesterday hath never joyed a joy. 
 
 However sweet. 
 That this To-day or that To-morrow too 
 
 May nov repeat. 
 Think too, To-day is trustee for to-morrow. 
 
 And present pain 
 That 's bravely borne shall ease the future sorrow 
 
 Nor cry in vain 
 ' Spare us To-day, To-morrow bring the rod,' 
 
 For then again 
 To-morrow from To-morrow still shall borrow, 
 
 A little ease to gain : 
 But bear to-day whate'er To-day may bring, 
 'Tis the one way to make To-morrow sing.
 
 COR CORDIUM -^7 
 
 PARABLES 
 
 Dear Love, you ask if I be true, 
 
 If other women move 
 The heart that only beats for you 
 
 With pulses all of love. 
 
 Out in the chilly dew one morn 
 I plucked a wild sweet rose, 
 
 A little silver bud new-born 
 And longing to unclose. 
 
 I took it, loving new-born things, 
 I knew my heart was warm, 
 
 ' O little silver rose, come in 
 And shelter from the storm.' 
 
 And soon, against my body pressed, 
 
 I felt its petals part. 
 And, looking down within my breast 
 
 I saw its golden heart. 
 
 O such a golden heart it has. 
 Your eyes may never see. 
 
 To others it is always shut. 
 It opens but for me.
 
 58 COR COIIDIUM 
 
 But that is why you see me pass 
 
 The honeysuckle there, 
 And leave the lilies in the ^ass. 
 
 Although they be so fair ; 
 
 Why the strange orchid half-accurst— 
 Circe of flowers she grows — 
 
 Can tempt me not : see ! in my heart. 
 Silver and gold, my rose. 
 
 II 
 
 Deep in a hidden lane we were. 
 
 My little love and I ; 
 When lo ! as we stood kissing there- 
 
 A flower against the sky ! 
 
 Frail as a tear its beauty hung — 
 
 O spare it, little hand. 
 But innocence like its, alas ! 
 
 Desire may not withstand. 
 
 And so I clambered up the bank 
 And threw the blossom down. 
 
 But we were sadder for its sake 
 As we walked back to town.
 
 COR CORDIUiM 59 
 
 A LOVE-LETTER 
 
 Darling little woman, just a little line. 
 
 Just a little silver word 
 For that dear gold of thine. 
 
 Only a whisper you have so often heard : 
 
 Only such a whisper as hidden in a shell 
 Holds a little breath of all the mighty sea, 
 
 But think what a little of all its depth and swell. 
 And think what a little is this little note of me. 
 
 'Darling, I love thee, that is all I live for' — 
 There is the whisper stealing from the shell, 
 
 But here is the ocean, O so deep and boundless. 
 And each little wave with its whisper as well.
 
 60 COR CORDIUM 
 
 IN THE NIGHT 
 
 ' Kiss me, dear Love ! ' — 
 
 But there was none to hear, 
 
 Only the darkness round about my bed 
 And hollow silence, for thy face had fled, 
 
 Though in my dreaming it had come so near. 
 
 I slept again and it came back to me. 
 Burning within the hollow arch of night 
 Like some fair flame of sacrificial light. 
 
 And all my soul sprang up to mix with thee — 
 ' Kiss me, my love ! 
 
 Ah, Love, thy face how fair ! ' 
 
 So did I cry, but still thou wcrt not there.
 
 COR CORDIUM 61 
 
 THE CONSTANT LOVER 
 
 I SEE fair women all the day, 
 They pass and pass — and go ; 
 
 I almost dream that they are shades 
 Within a shadow-show. 
 
 Their beauty lays no hand on me, 
 They talk — I hear no word ; 
 
 I ask my eyes if they have seen, 
 My ears if they have heard. 
 
 For why — within the north countree 
 
 A little maid, I know. 
 Is waiting through the days for me, 
 
 Drear days so long and slow.
 
 62 COR CORDIUM 
 
 THE WONDER-CHILD 
 
 'Our little babe/ each said, 'shall be 
 Like unto thee' — 'Like unto Ihee !' 
 
 ' Her mother's' — ' Nay, his father's ' — ' eyes,' 
 ' Dear curls like thine ' — but each replies, 
 ' As thine, all thine, and nought of me.' 
 
 What sweet solemnity to see 
 The little life upon thy knee. 
 And whisper as so soft it lies, — 
 'Our little babe!' 
 
 For, whether it be he or she, 
 
 A David or a Dorothy, 
 
 ' As mother fair,' or ' father wise,' 
 
 Both when it's 'good/ and when it cries. 
 
 One thing is certain, — it will be 
 Our little babe.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS
 
 THE HOUSE OF VENUS 
 
 Not that Queen Venus of adulterous fame, 
 
 Whose love was lust's insatiable flame — 
 
 Not hers the house I would be singer in 
 
 Whose loose-lipped servants seek a weary sin : 
 
 But mine the Venus of that morning flood 
 
 With all the dawn's young passion in her blood, 
 
 With great blue eyes and unpressed bosom sweet. 
 
 Her would I sing, and of the shy retreat 
 
 Where Love first kissed her wondering maidenhood. 
 
 And He and She first stood, with eyes afraid. 
 
 In the most golden House that God has made.
 
 «6 MKSCp:LLANE()fJS 
 
 SATIETY 
 
 The heart of the rose — how sweet 
 
 Its fragrance to drain, 
 
 Till the greedy brain 
 
 Reels and grows faint 
 
 With the garnered scent. 
 Reels as a dream on its silver feet. 
 
 Sweet thus to drain — then to sleep 
 For, beware how you stay 
 Till the joy pass away, 
 And the jaded brain 
 Seeketh fragrance in vain. 
 
 And hates what it may not reap.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS 67 
 
 WHAT OF THE DARKNESS? 
 
 What of the darkness ? Is it very fair ? 
 
 Are there great cahns and find ye silence there ? 
 
 Like soft-shut lihes all your faces glow 
 
 With some strange peace our faces never know, 
 
 With some great faith our faces never dare. 
 
 Dwells it in Darkness ? Do you find it there ? 
 
 Is it a Bosom where tired heads may lie ? 
 
 Is it a Mouth to kiss our weeping dry ? 
 
 Is it a Hand to still the pulse's leap ? 
 
 Is it a Voice that holds the runes of sleep ? 
 
 Day shows us not such comfort anywhere. 
 
 Dwells it in Darkness } Do you find it there ? 
 
 Out of the Day's deceiving light we call, 
 
 Day that shows man so great and God so small. 
 
 That hides the stars and magnifies the grass ; 
 
 O is the Darkness too a lying glass. 
 
 Or, undistracted, do you find truth there ? 
 
 What of the Darkness .'' Is it very fair?
 
 r,8 MISCELLANEOUS 
 
 AD CIMMERIOS 
 
 {A Prefatory Sonnet for Sa^ta Licia, the Misses Hortykin's 
 Magazine for the Ji/ind) 
 
 We, deeming day-light fair, and loving well 
 Its forms and dyes, and all the motley play 
 Of lives that win their colour from the day, 
 
 Are fain some wonder of it all to tell 
 
 To you that in that elder kingdom dwell 
 Of Ancient Night, and thus we make assay 
 Day to translate to Darkness, so to say, 
 
 To talk Cimmerian for a little spell. 
 
 Yet, as we write, may we not doubt lest ye 
 
 Should smile on us, as once our fathers smiled, 
 When we made vaunt of joys they knew no 
 more ; 
 Knowing great dreams young eyes can never see, 
 Dwelling in peace unguessed of any child — 
 Will ye smile thus upon our daylight lore ?
 
 MISCELLANEOUS 69 
 
 OLD LOVE-LETTERS 
 
 You ask and I send. It is well, yea ! best : 
 A lily hangs dead on its stalk, ah me ! 
 
 A dream hangs dead on a life it blest. 
 
 Shall it flaunt its death where sad eyes may see 
 In the cold dank wind of our memory ? 
 
 Shall we watch it rot like an empty nest ? 
 Love's ghost, poor pitiful mockery — 
 
 Bury these shreds and behold it shall rest. 
 
 And shall life fail if one dream be sped ? 
 For loss of one bloom shall the lily pass ? 
 
 Nay, bury these deep round the roots, for so 
 In soil of old dreams do the new dreams grow, 
 New ' Hail' is begot of the old ' Alas.' 
 See, here are our letters, so sweet — so dead.
 
 miscellanp:ous 
 
 DEATH IN A LONDON LODGING 
 
 * Yes, Sir, she 's gone at last — 'twas only five minutes 
 
 ago 
 We heard her sigh from her corner, — she sat in the 
 
 kitchen, you know : 
 We were all just busy on breakfast, John cleaning 
 
 the boots, and I 
 Had just gone into the larder — but you could have 
 
 heard that sigh 
 Right up in the garret, sir, for it seemed to pass 
 
 one by 
 Like a puff of wind — may be 'twas her soul, who 
 
 knows — 
 And we all looked up and ran to her — ^just in time 
 
 to see her head 
 Was sinking down on her bosom and " she 's gone at 
 
 last," I said.' 
 
 So Mrs. Pownceby, meeting on the stairs 
 Her second-floor lodger, me, bound citywards. 
 Told of her sister's death, doing her best 
 To match her face's colour with the news : 
 While I in listening made a running gloss 
 Beneath her speech of all she left unsaid. 
 As — ' in the kitchen,' ralher in the way,
 
 MISCELLANEOUS 71 
 
 jpoor thijig ; ' busy on breakfast,' awkward time, 
 
 Inieed, for one must live and lodgers meals, 
 
 Yai blow, must be attended to what comes — 
 
 (Or goes, I added for her) yes ! indeed. 
 
 ' "she's gone at last/' 1 said,' and better perhaps, 
 
 Foi what had life for her but suffering ? 
 
 Anl then, we're only poor, sir, John and I, 
 
 Ani she indeed was sometvhat of a strain : 
 
 ! yes, it 'sfor the best for all of us. 
 
 Anc still beneath all else methought I read 
 ' Wiat will the lodgers think, having the dead 
 Within the house ! hotv iiiconvenient ! ' 
 
 What did the lodgers think ? Well, I replied 
 In grief's set phrase, but ' the first floor/ 
 
 1 fancy, frowned at first, as though indeed 
 l,andladies' sisters had no right to die 
 And taint the air for nervous lodger folk ; 
 "Then smoothed his brow out into decency, 
 ind said, ' how sad ! ' and presently inquired 
 The day of burial, ending with the hope 
 dis lunch would not be late like yesterday. 
 The maiden-lady living near the roof 
 Quoted Isaiah may be^, or perhaps Job — 
 How the Lord gives, and likewise takes away. 
 And how exceeding blessed is the Lord ! — 
 For she has pious features ; while downstairs
 
 72 MISCELLANEOUS 
 
 Two ' medicals ' — both ' decent ' lads enough — 
 Hearkened the story out like gentlemen. 
 And said the right thing — almost looked it too! 
 Though all the while within them laughed a sea 
 Of student mirth, which for full half an hour 
 They stifled well, but then could hold no mort. 
 As soon their mad piano testified : 
 While in the kitchen dinner was toward 
 With hiss and bubble from the cooking stove, 
 And now a laugh from John ran up the stairs. 
 And a voice called aloud — of boiling pans. 
 
 ' So soon,' reflected I, ' the waters of life 
 Close o'er the sunken head ! ' Reflected /, 
 Not that in truth I was more pitiful 
 To the poor dead than those about me were. 
 Nay, but a trick of thinking much on Life 
 And Death i' the piece giveth each little strand 
 More deep significance — love for the whole 
 Must make us tender for the parts, methinks. 
 As in some souls the equal law holds true, 
 Sorrow for one makes sorrow for the world. 
 A fallen leaf or a dead flower indeed 
 Has made me just as sad, or some poor bee 
 Dead in the early summer — what 's the odds ? 
 Death was at ' 48,' and yet what sign ? 
 Who seemed to know ? who could have known th* 
 called ?
 
 MISCELLANEOUS 
 
 to 
 
 For not a blind was lower than its wont — 
 ' The lodgers would not like them down/ you know — 
 And in all rooms, save one, the boisterous life 
 Blazed like the fires within the several grates — 
 Save one where lay the poor dead silent thing, 
 A closest chill as who hath sat at night 
 With love beside the ingle knows the ashes 
 In the morning. 
 
 Death was at ' 48,' 
 Yet Life and Love and Sunlight were there too. 
 I ate and slept, and morning came at length 
 And brought my Lady's letter to my bed : 
 Thrice read and thirty kisses, came a thought. 
 As the sweet morning laughed about the room 
 Of the poor face downstairs, the sunshine there 
 Playing about it like a wakeful child 
 Whose weary mother sleepeth in the dawn. 
 Pressing soft fingers round about the eyes 
 To make them open, then with laughing shout 
 Making a gambol all her body's length 
 Ah me ! poor eyes that never open more ! 
 And mine as blithe to meet the morning's glance 
 As thirsty lips to close on thirsty lips ! 
 Poor limbs no sun could ever warm again ! 
 And mine so eager for the coming day !
 
 74 MISCELLANEOUS 
 
 TIME FLIES 
 
 On drives the road — another mile ! and still 
 Time's horses gallop down the lessening hill 
 O why such haste, with nothing at the end ! 
 Fain are we all, grim driver, to descend 
 And stretch with lingering feet the little way 
 That yet is ours — O stop thy horses, pray ! 
 
 Yet, sister dear, if we indeed had grace 
 To win from Time one lasting halting-place, 
 Which out of all life's valleys would we choose, 
 And, choosing — which with willingness would lose ? 
 Would we as children be content to stay. 
 Because the children are as birds all day ; 
 
 Or would we still as youngling lovers kiss, 
 Fearing the ardours of the greater bliss ? 
 The maid be still a maid and never know 
 Why mothers love their little blossoms so 
 Or can the mother be content her bud 
 Shall never open out of babyhood ? 
 
 Ah yes, Time flies because we fain would fly. 
 It is such ardent souls as you and I, 
 Greedy of living, give his wings to him — 
 And now we grumble that he uses them !
 
 MISCELLANEOUS 75 
 
 SO SOON TIRED ! 
 
 Am I so soon grown tired ? — yet this old sky 
 
 Can open still each morn so blue an eye, 
 
 This great old river still through nights and days 
 
 Run like a happy boy to holidays. 
 
 This sun be still a bridegroom, though long 
 
 wed. 
 And still those stars go singing up the night, 
 Glad as yon lark there splashing in the light : 
 Are these old things indeed unwearied. 
 Yet I, so soon grown tired, would creep away to 
 
 bed!
 
 <•> 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS 
 
 AUTUMN 
 
 The year grows still again, the surging wake 
 Of full-sailed summer folds its furrows up, 
 As after passing of an argosy 
 Old Silence settles back upon the sea, 
 And ocean grows as placid as a cup. 
 
 Spring, the young morn, and Summer, the 
 strong noon. 
 Have dreamed and done and died for Autumn's 
 sake : 
 Autumn that finds not for a loss so dear 
 
 Solace in stack and garner hers too soon — 
 Autumn, the faithful widow of the year. 
 
 Autumn, a poet once so full of song, 
 
 Wise in all rhymes of blossom and of bud, 
 Hath lost the early magic of his tongue. 
 
 And hath no passion in his failing blood. 
 Hear ye no sound of sobbing in the air? 
 
 'Tis his. Low bending in a secret lane, 
 Late blooms of second childhood in his hair, 
 He tries old magic, like a dotard mage ; 
 
 Tries spell and spell, to weep and try again : 
 Yet not a daisy hears, and everywhere 
 
 The hedgerow rattles like an empty cage.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS 77 
 
 He hath no pleasure in his silken skies, 
 
 Nor delicate ardours of the yellow land ; 
 Yea, dead, for all its gold, the woodland lies. 
 
 And all the throats of music filled with sand. 
 Neither to him across the stubble field 
 
 May stack nor garner any comfort bring. 
 
 Who loveth more this jasmine he hath made. 
 
 The little tender rhyme he yet can sing. 
 Than yesterday, with all its pompous yield. 
 Or all its shaken laurels on his head.
 
 78 MISCELLANEOUS 
 
 A FROST FANCY 
 
 Summer gone, 
 Winter here ; 
 Ways are white, 
 Skies are clear. 
 And the sun 
 A ruddy boy 
 All day slidiii<?, 
 While at night 
 The stars ap2)ear 
 Like skaters gliding 
 On a mere.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS 79 
 
 THE WORLD IS WIDE 
 
 The woi-ld is wide — around yon court, 
 Where dirty little children play. 
 
 Another world of street on street 
 Grows wide and wider every day. 
 
 And round the town for endless miles 
 A great strange land of green is spread- 
 
 O wide the world, O weary-wide. 
 But it is wider overhead. 
 
 For could you mount yon glittering stairs 
 And on their topmost turret stand, — 
 
 Still endless shining courts and squares. 
 And lanes of lamps on every hand. 
 
 And, might you tread those starry streets 
 To where those long perspectives bend, 
 
 O you would cast you down and die — 
 Street upon street, world without end.
 
 80 MISCELLANEOUS 
 
 SAINT CHARLES 
 
 ' " Saint Charles," said Thackeray to me, thirty years ago, putting one of 
 Charles Lamb's letters to his forehead." — Lettbrs of Edward Fitz- 
 gerald. 
 
 Saint Charles ! ah yes, let other men 
 Love Elia for his antic pen, 
 And watch with dilettante eyes 
 His page for every quaint surprise, 
 Curious of caviare phrase. 
 Yea; these who will not also praise? 
 We surely must, but which is more 
 The motley that his sorrow wore, 
 Or the great heart whose valorous beat 
 Upheld his brave unfaltering feet 
 Along the narrow path he chose, 
 And followed faithful to the close ? 
 
 Yea, Elia, thank thee for thy wit. 
 How poor our laughter, lacking it ! 
 For all thy gillyflowers of speech 
 Gramercy, Elia ; but most rich 
 Are we, most holpen, when we meet 
 Thee and thy Bridget in the street. 
 Upon that tearful errand set — 
 So often trod, so patient yet !
 
 MISCELLANEOUS 81 
 
 GOOD-NIGHT 
 
 (after the NORWEGIAN OF ROSENCRANTZ JOHNSEN) 
 
 Midnight, and through the blind the moonlight 
 stealing 
 
 On silver feet across the sleeping room, 
 Ah, moonlight, what is this thou art revealing — 
 
 Her breast, a great sweet lily in the gloom. 
 
 It is their bed, white little isle of bliss 
 In the dark wilderness of midnight sea, — 
 
 Hush ! 'tis their hearts still beating from the kiss. 
 The warm dark kiss that only night may see. 
 
 Their cheeks still burn, they close and nestle yet, 
 Ere, with faint breath, they falter out good-night, 
 
 Her hand in his upon the coverlet 
 
 Lies in the silver pathway of the light. 
 
 (LlLLEHAMMER, AuQUSt 22, 1892.)
 
 MISCELLANEOUS 
 
 BEATRICE 
 
 (for the BEATRICE CELEBRATION, 1890) 
 
 Nine mystic revolutions of the spheres 
 
 Since Dante's birth, and lo ! a star new-born 
 Shining in heaven : and like a lai*k at morn 
 
 Springing to meet it, straight in all men's ears, 
 
 A strange newsong, which through the listening years 
 Grew deep as lonely sobbing from the thorn 
 Rising at eve, shot through with bitter scorn, 
 
 Full-throated with the ecstasy of tears. 
 
 Long since that star arose, that song upsprang. 
 That shine and sing in heaven above us yet ; 
 Since thy white childhood, glorious Beatrice, 
 Dawned like a blessed angel upon his : 
 Thy star it was that did his song beget. 
 Star shining for us still because he sang.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS 83 
 
 A CHILD'S EVENSONG 
 
 The sun is weary, for he ran 
 
 So far and fast to-day ; 
 The birds are weaiy, for who sang 
 
 So many songs as they ? 
 The bees and butterflies at last 
 
 Are tired out, for just think too 
 How many gardens through the day 
 
 Their httle wings have fluttered through. 
 
 And so, as all tired people do. 
 They 've gone to lay their sleepy heads 
 Deep deep in warm and happy beds. 
 The sun has shut his golden eye 
 And gone to sleep beneath the sky. 
 The birds and butterflies and bees 
 Have all crept into flowers and trees. 
 And all lie quiet, still as mice. 
 Till morning comes — like father's voice. 
 
 o 
 
 So Geoffrey, Owen, Phyllis, you 
 Must sleep away till morning too. 
 Close little eyes, down little heads. 
 And sleep — sleep — sleep in happy beds.
 
 84 MISCELLANEOUS 
 
 AN EPITAPH ON A GOLDFISH 
 
 (with apologies to Ariel) 
 
 Five inches deep Sir Goldfish lies. 
 Here last September was he laid. 
 
 Poppies these that were his eyes. 
 
 Of fish-bones were these bluebells made. 
 
 His fins of gold that to and fro 
 
 Waved and waved so long ago. 
 
 Still as petals wave and wave 
 
 To and fro above his grave. 
 
 Hearken too ! for so his knell 
 
 Tolls all day each tiny bell.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS 85 
 
 BEAUTY ACCURST 
 
 I AM SO fair that wheresoe'er I wend 
 
 Men yearn with strange desire to kiss my face, 
 
 Stretch out their hands to touch me as I pass. 
 And women follow me from place to place. 
 
 A poet writing honey of his dear 
 
 Leaves the wet page, — ah ! leaves it long to dry. 
 The bride forgets it is her marriage-morn, 
 
 The bridegroom too forgets as I go by. 
 
 Within the street where my strange feet shall stray 
 All markets hush and traffickers forget, 
 
 In my gold head forget their meaner gold, 
 The poor man grows unmindful of his debt. 
 
 Two lovers kissing in a secret place. 
 
 Should I draw nigh, — will never kiss again ; 
 
 I come between the king and his desire, 
 And where I am all loving else is vain. 
 
 Lo ! when I walk along the woodland way 
 
 Strange creatures leer at me with uncouth love. 
 
 And from the grass reach upward to my breast. 
 And to my mouth lean from the boughs above.
 
 8fi MISCELLANEOUS 
 
 The sleepy kine move round me in desire 
 And press their oozy Ups upon my hair, 
 
 Toads kiss my feet and creatures of the mire. 
 
 The snails will leave their shells to watch me 
 there. 
 
 But all this worship, what is it to me ? 
 
 I smite the ox and crush the toad in death : 
 I only know I am so very fair. 
 
 And that the world was made to give me breath. 
 
 I only wait the hour when God shall rise 
 Up from the star where he so long hath sat, 
 
 And bow before the wonder of my eyes 
 And set me there — I am so fair as that.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS 87 
 
 TO A DEAD FRIEND 
 
 And is it true indeed, and must you go. 
 Set out alone across that moorland track, 
 
 No love avail, though we have loved you so. 
 No voice have any power to call you back ? 
 
 And losing hands stretch after you in vain. 
 And all our eyes grow empty for your lack. 
 
 Nor hands, nor eyes, know aught of you again. 
 
 Dear friend, I shed no tear while yet you stayed. 
 Nor vexed your soul with unavailing word, 
 
 But you are gone, and now can all be said. 
 And tear and sigh too surely fall unheard. 
 
 So long I kept for you an undimmed eye, 
 
 Surely for grief this hour may well be spared. 
 
 Though could you know I still must keep it dry. 
 
 For what can tears avail you ? the spring rain 
 That softly pelts the lattice, as with flowers, 
 
 Will of its tears a daisied counterpane 
 
 Weave for your rest, and all its sound of showers 
 
 Makes of its sobbing low a cradle song : 
 All tears avail but these salt tears of ours, 
 
 These tears alone 'tis idle to prolong.
 
 88 MISCELLANEOUS 
 
 Yet must we shed them, barren though they be. 
 Though bloom nor burden answer as they flow, 
 
 Though no sun shines that our sad eyes can see 
 To throw across their fall hope's radiant bow. 
 
 Poor selfish tears ! we weep them not for him, 
 'Tis our own sorrow that we pity so, 
 
 'Tis our own loss that leaves our eyes so dim.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS 89 
 
 SUNSET IN THE CITY 
 
 Above the town a monstrous wheel is turnmg, 
 
 With glowing spokes of red. 
 Low in the west its fiery axle burning ; 
 
 And, lost amid the spaces overhead, 
 A vague white moth, the moon, is fluttering. 
 
 Above the town an azure sea is flowing, 
 'Mid long peninsulas of shining sand. 
 
 From opal unto pearl the moon is growing. 
 
 Dropped like a shell upon the changing strand. 
 
 Within the town the streets grow strange and 
 haunted, 
 
 And, dark against the western lakes of green. 
 The buildings change to temples, and unwonted 
 
 Shadows and sounds creep in where day has been. 
 
 Within the town, the lamps of sin are flaring. 
 Poor foolish men that know not what ye are ! 
 
 Tired traffic still upon his feet is faring — 
 Two lovers meet and kiss and watch a star.
 
 90 MISCELLANEOUS 
 
 THE CITY IN MOONLIGHT 
 
 Dear city in the moonlight dreaming, 
 How changed and lovely is your face ; 
 
 Where is the sordid busy scheming 
 That filled all day the market-place ? 
 
 Was it but fancy that a rabble 
 
 Of money-changers bought and sold. 
 
 Filling with sacrilegious babble 
 This temple-court of solemn gold ? 
 
 Ah no, poor captive-slave of Croesus, 
 His bond-maid all the toiling day, 
 
 You, like some hunted child of Jesus, 
 Steal out beneath the moon to pray.
 
 OF POETS AND POETRY
 
 To James Ashcroft Noble, 
 
 Poet and Critic, a small acknowledgment of much 
 unforgotten kindness
 
 INSCRIPTIONS 
 
 Poet, a truce to your song ! 
 
 Have you heard the heart sing ? 
 Like a brook among trees, 
 Like the humming of bees. 
 Like the ripple of wine : 
 Had you heard, would you stay 
 Blowing bubbles so long ? 
 You have ears for the spheres — 
 Have you heard the heart sing ? 
 
 Have you loved the good books of the world,- 
 
 And written none ? 
 Have you loved the great poet, — 
 
 And burnt your little rhyme ? 
 ' O be my friend, and teach me to be thine.* 
 
 By many hands the work of God is done. 
 
 Swart toil, pale thought, flushed dream, he 
 
 spurneth none : 
 Yea ! and the weaver of a little rhyme 
 Is seen his worker in his own full time. 
 
 93
 
 94 OF POETS AM) TOETRY 
 
 THE DECADENT TO HIS SOUL 
 
 The Decadent was speaking to his soul — 
 
 Poor useless thing, he said. 
 
 Why did God burden me with such as thou ? 
 
 The body were enough. 
 
 The body gives me all. 
 
 The soul 's a sort of sentimental wife 
 That prays and whimpers of the higher life, 
 Objects to latch-keys, and bewails the old, 
 The dear old days, of passion and of dream. 
 When life was a blank canvas, yet untouched 
 Of the great painter Sin. 
 
 Yet, little soul, thou hast fine eyes. 
 
 And knowest fine airy motions. 
 
 Hast a voice — 
 
 Why wilt thou so devote them to the church ? 
 
 His face grew strangely sweet — 
 
 As when a toad smiles. 
 
 He dreamed of a new sin : 
 
 An incest 'twixt the body and the soul.
 
 OF POETS AND POETRY 95 
 
 He drugged his soul, and in a house of sin 
 
 She played all she remembered out of heaven 
 
 For him to kiss and clip by. 
 
 He took a little harlot in his hands. 
 
 And she made all his veins like boiling oil, 
 
 Then that grave organ made them cool again. 
 
 Then from that day, he used his soul 
 
 As bitters to the over dulcet sins. 
 
 As olives to the fatness of the feast — 
 
 She made those dear heart-breaking ecstasies 
 
 Of minor chords amid the Phrygian flutes, 
 
 She sauced his sins with splendid memories, 
 
 Starry regrets and infinite hopes and fears ; 
 
 His holy youth and his first love 
 
 Made peax'ly background to strange-coloured vice. 
 
 Sin is no sin when virtue is forgot. 
 
 It is so good in sin to keep in sight 
 
 The white hills whence we fell, to measure by — 
 
 To say I was so high, so white, so pure. 
 
 And am so low, so blood-stained and so base ; 
 
 I revel here amid the sweet sweet mire 
 
 And yonder are the hills of morning flowers ; 
 
 So high, so low ; so lost and with me yet ; 
 
 To stretch the octave 'twixt the dream and deed. 
 
 Ah, that's the thrill!
 
 90 OF POETS AND POETRY 
 
 To dream so well, to do so ill, — 
 
 There comes the bitter-sweet that makes the sin. 
 
 First drink the stars, then grunt amid the mire, 
 So shall the mire have something of the stars. 
 And the high stars be fragrant of the mire. 
 
 The Decadent was speaking to his soul — 
 
 Dear witch, I said the body was enough. 
 
 How young, how simple as a suckling child ! 
 
 And then I dreamed — 'an incest 'twixt the body 
 
 and the soul : ' 
 Let's wed, I thought, the seraph with the dog, 
 And wait the purple thing that shall be born. 
 
 And now look round — seest thou this bloom ? 
 Seven petals and each petal seven dyes. 
 The stem is gilded and the root in blood : 
 That came of thee. 
 
 Yea, all my flowers were single save for thee. 
 I pluck seven fruits from off a single tree, 
 I pluck seven flowers from off" a single stem, 
 I light my palace with the seven stars. 
 And eat strange dishes to Gregorian chants : 
 All thanks to thee. 
 
 But the soul wept with hollow hectic face, 
 Captive in that lupanar of a man.
 
 OF POETS AND POETRY 97 
 
 And I who passed by heard and wept for both, — 
 The man was once an apple-cheek dear lad, 
 The soul was once an angel up in heaven. 
 
 O let the body be a healthy beast. 
 And keep the soul a singing soaring bird ; 
 But lure thou not the soul from out the sky 
 To pipe unto the body in the sty.
 
 98 OF POETS AND POETRY 
 
 TO A POET 
 
 As one, the secret lover of a queen, 
 
 Watches her move within the people's eye. 
 Hears their poor chatter as she passes by, 
 
 And smiles to think of what his eyes have seen ; 
 
 The little room where love did ' shut them in,' 
 The fragrant couch whereon they twain did lie, 
 And rests his hand where on his heart doth die 
 
 A bruised daffodil of last night's sin : 
 
 So, Poet, as I read your rhyme once more 
 Here where a thousand eyes may read it too, 
 I smile your own sweet secret smile at those 
 Who deem the outer petals of the rose 
 The rose's heart — I, who through grace of you, 
 Have known it for my own so long before.
 
 OF POETS AND POETRY 99 
 
 THE PASSIONATE READER TO HIS POET 
 
 Doth it not thrill thee. Poet, 
 Dead and dust though thou art, 
 
 To feel how I press thy singing 
 Close to my heart ? — 
 
 Take it at night to my pillow, 
 
 Kiss it befoi-e I sleep. 
 And again when the delicate morning 
 
 Beginneth to peep ? 
 
 See how I bathe thy pages 
 
 Here in the light of the sun, 
 Through thy leaves, as a wind among roses. 
 
 The breezes shall run. 
 
 Feel how I take thy poem 
 
 And bury within it my face, 
 As I pressed it last night in the heart of 
 a flower, 
 
 Or deep in a dearer place. 
 
 Think, as I love thee. Poet, 
 
 A thousand love beside. 
 Dear women love to press thee too 
 
 Against a sweeter side.
 
 100 OF POETS AND POETRY 
 
 Art thou not happy. Poet ? 
 
 I sometimes dream that I 
 For such a fragrant fame as thine 
 
 Would gladly sing and die. 
 
 Say, wilt thou change thy glory 
 For this same youth of mine ? 
 
 And I will give my days i' the sun 
 For that great song of thine.
 
 OF POETS AND POETRY 101 
 
 MATTHEW ARNOLD 
 
 (died, APRIL 15, 1888) 
 
 Within that wood where thine own scholar strays, 
 O ! Poet, thou art passed, and at its bound 
 Hollow and sere we cry, yet win no sound 
 
 But the dark muttering of the forest maze 
 
 We may not tread, nor pierce with any gaze ; 
 And hardly love dare whisper thou hast found 
 That restful moonlit slope of pastoral ground 
 
 Set in dark dingles of the songful ways. 
 
 Gone ! they have called our shepherd from the hill, 
 Passed is the sunny sadness of his song, 
 
 That song which sang of sight and yet was brave 
 To lay the ghosts of seeing, subtly strong 
 
 To wean from tears and from the troughs to save ; 
 And who shall teach us now that he is still !
 
 102 OF POETS AND POETRY 
 
 'TENNYSON' AT THE FARM 
 
 (to l. and h. h.) 
 
 YOU that dwell 'mid farm and fold, 
 Yet keep so quick undulled a heart, 
 
 1 send you here that book of gold. 
 
 So loved so long ; 
 The fairest art, 
 
 The sweetest English song. 
 
 And often in the far-off town, 
 
 When summer sits with open door, 
 
 I '11 dream I see you set it down 
 Beside the churn, 
 
 Whose round shall slacken more and more, 
 Till you forget to turn. 
 
 And I shall smile that you forget. 
 
 And Dad will scold — but never mind ! 
 
 Butter is good, but better yet. 
 Think such as we, 
 
 To leave the farm and fold behind, 
 And follow such as he.
 
 OF POETS AND POETRY 103 
 
 'THE DESK'S DRY WOOD' 
 
 (to JAMES welch) 
 
 Dear Desk, Farewell ! I spoke you oft 
 In phrases neither sweet nor soft, 
 But at the end I come to see 
 That thou a friend hast been to me, 
 
 No flatterer but very friend. 
 For who shall teach so well again 
 The blessed lesson-book of pain, 
 The truth that souls that would aspire 
 Must bravely face the scourge and fire, 
 
 If they would conquer in the end ? 
 Two days ! 
 
 Shall I not hug thee very close ? 
 Two days. 
 
 And then we part upon our ways. 
 Ah me ! 
 
 Who shall possess thee after me .'' 
 O pray he be no enemy to poesy, 
 To gentle maid or gentle dream. 
 
 How have we dreamed together^ I and thou, 
 Sweet dreams that like some incense wrapt us 
 round —
 
 104 OF POETS AND POETRY 
 
 The last new book, the last new love, 
 
 The last new trysting-ground. 
 
 How many queens have ruled and passed 
 
 Since first we met ; how thick and fast 
 
 The letters used to come at first, how thin at 
 
 last ; 
 Then ceased, and winter for a space ! 
 Until another hand 
 Brought spring into the land, 
 And went the seasons' pace. 
 
 And now, Dear Desk, thou knowest for how long 
 
 time 
 I have no queen but song : 
 
 Yea, thou hast seen the last love fade, and now 
 Behold the last of many a secret rhyme !
 
 OF POETS AND POETRY 105 
 
 A LIBRARY IN A GARDEN 
 
 ' A Library in a garden ! The phrase seems to contain the whole felicity 
 of man.' — Mr. Edmund Gosse in Gossip in a Lihrary. 
 
 A WORLD of books amid a world of green. 
 Sweet song without, sweet song again within 
 Flowers in the garden, in the folios too : 
 O happy Bookman, let me live with you ! 
 
 ON THE MORALS OF POETS 
 
 One says he is immoral, and points out 
 Warm sin in ruddy specks upon his soul : 
 
 Bigot, one folly of the man you flout 
 
 Is more to God than thy lean life is whole.
 
 lUG OF POETS AND POETRY 
 
 FAERY GOLD 
 
 (to MRS. PERCY DEARMER) 
 
 A POET hungered, as well he might — 
 Not a morsel since yesternight ! 
 And sad he grew — good reason why — 
 For the poet had nought wherewith to buy. 
 
 ' Are not two sparrows sold,' he cried, 
 'Sold for a farthing? and,' he sighed. 
 As he pushed his morning post away, 
 ' Are not two sonnets more than they ? ' 
 
 Yet store of gold, great store had he, — 
 Of the gold that is known as * faery.' 
 He had the gold of his burning dreams. 
 He had his golden rhymes — in reams. 
 He had the strings of his golden lyre, 
 And his own was that ffolden west on fire. 
 
 &"■ 
 
 But the poet knew his world too well 
 
 To dream that such would buy or sell. 
 
 He had his poets, 'pure gold,' he said. 
 
 But the man at the bookstall shook his head, 
 
 And offered a grudging half-a-ci*own 
 
 For the five the poet had brought him down
 
 OF POETS AND POETRY 107 
 
 Ah, what a world we are in ! we sigh, 
 
 Where a lunch costs more than a Keats can buy. 
 
 And even Shakespeare's hallowed line 
 
 Falls short of the requisite sum to dine. 
 
 Yet other gold had the poet got. 
 
 For see from that grey-blue (rouda pot 
 
 Three golden tulips spouting flame — 
 
 From his love, from his love, this mom, tney came. 
 
 His love he loved even more than fame. 
 
 Three golden tulips thrice more fair 
 
 Than other golden tulips were — 
 
 ' And yet,' he smiled as he took one up. 
 
 And feasted on its yellow cup, — 
 
 ' I wonder how many eggs you'd buy ! 
 
 By Bacchus, I 've half a mind to try ! 
 
 ' One golden bloom for one golden yolk — 
 
 Nay, on my word, sir, I mean no joke — 
 
 Gold for gold is fair dealing, sir.' 
 
 Think of the grocer gaping there ! 
 
 Or the baker, if I went and said, 
 — ' This tulip for a loaf of bread, 
 God's beauty for your kneaded grain ; ' 
 
 Or the vintner — ' For this flower of mine 
 
 A flagon, pray, of yellow wine, 
 
 And you shall keep the change for gain.'
 
 108 OF POETS AND POETRY 
 
 Ah me, on what a different earth 
 I and these fellows had our birth, 
 Strange that these golden things should be 
 For them so poor, so rich for me.' 
 
 Ended his sigh, the poet searched his shelf — 
 Seeking another poet to feed himself; 
 Then sadly went, and, full of shame and grief. 
 Sold his last Swinburne for a plate of beef 
 
 Thus poets too, to fill the hungry maw. 
 Must eat each other — 'tis the eternal law.
 
 OF POETS AND POETRY 109 
 
 ALL SUNG 
 
 What shall I sing when all is sung, 
 
 And every tale is told, 
 And in the world is nothing young 
 
 That was not long since old ? 
 
 Why should I fret unwilling ears 
 
 With old things sung anew. 
 While voices from the old dead years 
 
 Still go on singing too ? 
 
 A dead man singing of his maid 
 
 Makes all my rhymes in vain, 
 Yet his poor lips must fade and fade. 
 
 And mine shall kiss again. 
 
 Why should I strive through weary moons 
 
 To make my music true ? 
 Only the dead men knew the tunes 
 
 The live world dances to.
 
 no OF POETS AND TOETRY 
 
 CORYDON'S FAREWELL TO HIS PIPE 
 
 Yea, it is best, dear friends, who have so oft 
 Fed full my ears with praises sweet and soft, 
 Sweeter and softer than my song should win, 
 Too sweet and soft — I must not listen more, 
 Lest its dear perilous honey make me mad. 
 And once again an overweening lad 
 Presume against Apollo. Nay, no more ! 
 'Tis not to pipes like mine sing stars at morn. 
 Nor stars at night dance in their solemn dance : 
 Nay, stars ! why tell of stars ? the very thrush 
 Putteth my daintiest cunning to the blush 
 And boasteth him the hedgerow laureate. 
 Yea, dimmest daisies lost amid the grass. 
 One might have deemed blessed us for looking at. 
 Would rather choose, — yea, so it is, alas ! — 
 The meanest bird that from its tiny throat 
 Droppeth the pearl of one monotonous note. 
 Than any music I can bring to pass. 
 
 So, let me go : for, while I linger here. 
 Piping these dainty ditties for your ear, 
 To win that dearer honey for my own. 
 Daylong my Thestylis doth sit alone,
 
 OF POETS AND POETRY 111 
 
 Weeping, mayhap, because the gods have given 
 Song but not sheep — the rarer gift of heaven ; 
 And Httle Phyllis solitary grows. 
 And little Corydon unheeded goes. 
 
 Sheep are the shepherd's business, — let nie go, — 
 Piping his pastime when the sun is low : 
 But I, alas ! the other order keep, 
 Piping my business, and forgot my sheep. 
 
 My song that once was as a little sweet 
 
 Savouring the daily bread we all must eat, 
 
 Lo ! it has come to be my only food : 
 
 And, as a lover of the Indian weed 
 
 Steals to a self-indulgent solitude, 
 
 To draw the dreamy sweetness from its root. 
 
 So from the strong blithe world of valorous deed 
 
 I steal away to suck this singing weed ; 
 
 And while the morning gathers up its strength. 
 
 And while the noonday runneth on in might. 
 
 Until the shadows and the evening light 
 
 Come and awake me with a fear at length. 
 
 Prone in some hankering covert hid away^ 
 
 Fain am I still my piping to prolong, 
 
 And for the largess of a bounteous day 
 
 Dare pay my maker with a paltry song.
 
 IJJ OF POETS AND POETRY 
 
 Welcome the song that like a trumpet high 
 
 Lifts the tired head of battle with its cry, 
 
 Welcome the song that from its morning heights 
 
 Cheers jaded markets with the health of fields, 
 
 Brings down the stars to mock the city lights. 
 
 Or up to heaven a shining ladder builds. 
 
 But not to me belongeth such a grace, 
 
 And, were it mine, 'tis not in amorous shade 
 
 To river music that such song is made : 
 
 The song that moves the battle on awoke 
 
 To the stern rhythm of the swordsman's stroke. 
 
 The song that fans the city's weary face 
 
 Sprang not afar from out some leafy place. 
 
 But bubbled spring-like in its dingiest lane 
 
 From out a heart that shared the city's pain ; 
 
 And he who brings the stars into the street 
 
 And builds that shining ladder for our feet, 
 
 Dwells in no mystic Abora aloof. 
 
 But shares the shelter of the common roof; 
 
 He learns great metres from the thunderous hum. 
 
 And all his songs pulse to the human beat. 
 
 But I am Corydon, 1 am not he. 
 
 Though I no more that Corydon shall be 
 
 To make a sugared comfit of my song. 
 
 So now I go, go back to Thestylis — 
 
 How her poor eyes will laugh again for this ! —
 
 OF POETS AND POETRY 113 
 
 Go back to Thestylis, and no more roam 
 In melancholy meadows mad to sing. 
 But teach our little home itself to sing. 
 Yea, Corydon, now cast thy pipe away — 
 See, how it floats upon the stream, and see 
 There it has gone, and now — away ! away ! 
 But O ! my pipe, how sweet thou wert to me ! 
 
 H
 
 Edinburgh : T. and A. Constablk 
 Printers to Her Majesty
 
 1
 
 List of Books 
 
 in 
 
 gelles Jettres 
 
 <?. 
 
 ^^95 
 
 ALL BOOKS IN THIS CATALOGUE 
 ARE PUBLISHED AT NET PRICES 
 
 Telegraphic Address — 
 ' Bodleian, London '
 
 l8.;5. 
 
 List of Books 
 
 IN 
 
 BELLES LETT RES 
 
 {.Including some Transfers) 
 
 Published by John Lane 
 
 VIGO STREET, LONDON, W. 
 
 A^. B. — The A utiiors and Publisher reserve the right of reprinting 
 any book in this list if a new edition is called for, except in cases 
 where a stipulation has been made to the contrary, and of printing 
 a separate edition of any of the books for America irrespective of the 
 numbers to which the English editions are limited. The numbers 
 mentioned do not include copies sent to the public libraries, nor those 
 sent for review. 
 
 Most of the books are published simultaneously in England and 
 America, and in many instances the names of the American 
 Publishers are appended. 
 
 ADAMS (FRANCIS). 
 
 Essays in Modernity. Crown Svo. 5s. net. [Shortly. 
 Chicago : Stone & Kimball. 
 
 A Child of the Age. {See Keynotes Series.) 
 
 ALLEN (GRANT). 
 
 The Lower Slopes : A Volume of Verse. With Title- 
 page and Cover Design by J. ILLINGWORTH Kay. 
 600 copies. Crown Svo. 5s. net. 
 Chicago : Stone & Kimball. 
 The Woman Who Did. (See Keynotes Series.)
 
 THE PUBLICATIONS OF JOHN LANE 
 
 BEARDSLEY (AUBREY). 
 
 The Story of Venus and Tannhauser, in which is set 
 forth an exact account of the Manner of State held by 
 Madam Venus, Goddess and Meretrix, under the 
 famous Horselberg, and containing the adventures of 
 Tannhauser in that place, his repentance, his jour- 
 neying to Rome, and return to the loving mountain. 
 By Aubrey Beardsley. With 20 full-page illus- 
 trations, numerous ornaments, and a cover from the 
 same hand. Sq. i6mo. ios.6d.net. [In preparation. 
 
 BEDDOES (T. L.). 
 
 See GossE (Edmund). 
 
 BEECHING (Rev. H. C). 
 
 In a Garden : Poems. With Title-page designed by 
 Roger Fry. Crown 8vo. 5s. net. 
 New York : Macmillan & Co. 
 
 BENSON (ARTHUR CHRISTOPHER). 
 Lyrics. Fcap. 8vo. , buckram. 5s. net. 
 New York: Macmillan & Co. 
 
 BROTHERTON (MARY). 
 
 Rosemary for RemExMBRAnce. With Title-page and 
 Cover Design byWALTER West. Fcap. 8vo. 3s.6d.net. 
 
 CAMPBELL (GERALD). 
 
 The Joneses and the Asterisks. With 6 Illustra- 
 tions and a Title-page by F. H. Townsend. Fcap. 
 8vo. 3s. 6d. net. [In preparation. 
 
 CASTLE (Mrs. EGERTON). 
 
 My Little Lady Anne : A Romance. Sq. i6mo. 
 2s. 6d. net. [In preparation. 
 
 CASTLE (EGERTON). 
 
 See Stevenson (Robert Louis). 
 
 CROSS (VICTORIA). 
 
 Consummation : A Novel. Crown 8vo. 4s. 6d. net. 
 
 [In preparation. 
 DAEMON (C. W.). 
 
 Song Favours. With a specially-designed Title-page. 
 Sq. i6mo. 4s. 6d. net. [In preparation.
 
 THE PUBLICATIONS OF 
 
 D'ARCY (ELLA). 
 
 Monochromes, {See Keynotes Series.) 
 
 DAVIDSON (JOHN). 
 
 Plays: An Unhistorical Pastoral; A Romantic Farce; 
 Bruce, a Chronicle Play ; Smith, a Tragic Farce ; 
 Scaramouch in Naxos, a Pantomime, with a Frontis- 
 piece and Cover Design by Aubrey Beardsley. 
 Printed at the Ballantyne Press. 500 copies. Small 
 4to. 7s. 6d. net. 
 
 Chicago : Stone & Kimball. 
 Fleet Street Eclogdes. Fcap. 8vo, buckram. 5s. 
 net. [ Out of Print at present. 
 
 A Random Itinerary and a Ballad, With a Fron- 
 tispiece and Title-page by Laurence Housman. 
 600 copies. Fcap. 8vo, Irish Linen. 5s. net. 
 Boston : Copeland & Day. 
 Ballads and Songs. With a Title-pnge and Cover 
 Design by Walter West. Third Edition. Fcap. 
 8vo, buckram. 5s. net. 
 Boston : Copeland & Day. 
 
 DAWE (W. CARLTON). 
 
 Yellow and White. {See Keynotes Series.) 
 
 DE TABLEY (LORD). 
 
 Poems, Dramatic and Lyrical. By John Leicester 
 Warren (Lord De Tabley). Illustrations and Cover 
 Design by C. S. Ricketts. Second Edition. 
 Crown 8vo. 7s. 6d. net. 
 New York : Macmillan & Co. 
 Poems, Dramatic and Lyrical. Second Series, uni- 
 form in binding with the former volume. Crown Svo. 
 5s. net. 
 New York : Macmillan & Co. 
 
 DIX (GERTRUDE). 
 
 The Girl from the Farm. {See Keynotes Series.) 
 
 DOSTOIEVSKY (F.). 
 
 See Keynotes Series, Vol. iii.
 
 JOHN LANE 
 
 ECHEGARAY (JOSE). 
 
 See Lynch (Hannah). 
 EGERTON (GEORGE). 
 
 Keynotes. (3"« Keynotes Series.) 
 Discords. (See Keynotes Series.) 
 YOCNG Ofeg's Ditties. A translation from the Swedish 
 of Ola Hansson. Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. net. 
 Boston : Roberts Bros. 
 
 FARR (FLORENCE). 
 
 The Dancing Fadn. (i'^ Keynotes Series.) 
 
 FLETCHER (J. S.). 
 
 The Wonderful Wapentake. By 'A Son of the 
 Soil.' With 18 full-page Illustrations by J. A. 
 Symington. Crown Svo. 5s. 6d. net. 
 Chicago : A. C. M'CIurg & Co. 
 GALE (NORMAN). 
 
 Orchard Songs. With Title-page and Cover Design 
 by J. Illingworth Kay. Fcap. Svo, Irish Linen. 
 5s. net. 
 Also a Special Edition limited in number on hand-made paper 
 bound in English vellum. £,i, is. net. 
 
 New York : G. P. Putnam's Sons. 
 
 GARNETT (RICHARD). 
 
 Poems. With Title-page by J. Illingworth Kay. 
 350 copies. Crown Svo. 5s. net. 
 Boston: Copeland & Day. 
 Dante, Petrarch, Camoens, cxxiv Sonnets, renderei 
 in English. Crown Svo. 5s. net. [In preparation, 
 
 GEARY (NEVILL). 
 
 A Lawyer's Wife : A Novel. Crown Svo. 4s. 6d. 
 net. [In preparation, 
 
 GOSSE (EDMUND). 
 
 The Letters of Thomas Lovell Beddoes. Now 
 first edited. Pott Svo. 5s. net. 
 Also 25 copies large paper. 12s. 6d. net. 
 New York : Macmillan & Co.
 
 THE PUBLICATIONS OF 
 
 GRAHAME (KENNETH). 
 
 Pagan Pai'EKS : A Volume of Essays. With Title- 
 page by Aubrey Bkardsley. Fcap. 8vo. Ss. net. 
 Chicago : Stone & Kimball. 
 
 The Golden Age. Crown Svo. 3s. 6d. net. 
 
 Chicago: Stone & Kimball. {In preparation. 
 
 GREENE (G. A.). 
 
 Italian Lyrists of To-day. Translations in the 
 original metres from about thirty-five living Italian 
 poets, with bibliographical and biographical notes. 
 Crown 8vo. 5s. net. 
 
 New York : Macmillan & Co. 
 
 GREENWOOD (FREDERICK). 
 
 Imagination in Dreams. Crown 8vo. 5s. net. 
 New York : Macmillan & Co. 
 
 HAKE (T. GORDON). 
 
 A Selection from his Poems. Edited by Mrs. 
 Meynkll. With a Portrait after D. G. RossETTi, 
 and a Cover Design by Gleeson White. Crown 
 8vo. 5s. net. 
 
 Chicago : Stone & Kimball. 
 
 HANSSON (LAURA MARHOLM). 
 
 Modern Women : Six Psychological Sketches. [Sophia 
 Kovalevsky, George Egerton, Eleanora Duse, Amalie 
 Skram, Marie Bashkirtseff, A. Edgren Leffler]. Trans- 
 lated from the German by Hermione Ramsden. 
 Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. net. [In preparation. 
 
 HANSSON (OLA). See Egerton. 
 
 HARLAND (HENRY). 
 
 Grey Roses. (.S'^u Keynotes Series.) 
 
 HAYES (ALFRED). 
 
 The Vale of Arden and Other Poems. With a 
 Title-page and a Cover designed by E. H. New. 
 Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d. net. 
 Also 25 copies large paper. 155. net. 
 
 HEINEMANN (WILLIAM) 
 
 The First Step A Dramatic Moment. Small 410. 
 3s. 6d. net.
 
 JOHN LANE 
 
 HOPPER (NORA). 
 
 Ballads in Prose. .With a Title-page and Cover by 
 Walter West. Sq. i6mo. Ss. net. 
 Boston : Roberts Bros. 
 
 HOUSMAN (LAURENCE). 
 
 Green Arras : Poems. With Illustrations by the 
 Author. Crown 8vo. 5s.net, [hi preparation. 
 
 IRVING (LAURENCE). 
 
 GODEFROi AND YoLANDE : A Play. With three Illus- 
 trations by Aubrey Beardsley, Sm. 4to. 5s. net. 
 
 [/« preparation. 
 
 JAMES (W. P.). 
 
 Romantic Professions : A Volume of Essays. With 
 Title-page designed by J. Illingworth Kay. 
 Crown 8vo. 5s. net. 
 
 New York : Macmillan & Co. 
 
 JOHNSON (LIONEL). 
 
 The Art of Thomas Hardy : Six Essays. With Etched 
 Portrait by Wm. Strang, and Bibliography by JOHN 
 Lane. Second Edition. Crown 8vo. 5s. 6d. net. 
 Also 150 copies, large paper, with proofs of the portrait. £1, is. 
 net. 
 New York : Dodd, Mead & Co. 
 
 JOHNSON (PAULINE). 
 
 White Wampum : Poems. With a Title-page and Cover 
 Design by E. H. New. Crown 8vo. 5s. net. 
 
 [In preparation. 
 
 JOHNSTONE (C. E.). 
 
 Ballads of Boy and Beak. Sq. 32mo. 2s. 6d. net. 
 
 [In preparation. 
 
 KEYNOTES SERIES. 
 
 • Each volume with specially designed Title-page by AUBREY 
 
 Beardsley. Crown 8vo, cloth. 3s. 6d. net. 
 Vol. I. Keynotes. By George Egerton. 
 
 [Sixth edition now ready. 
 
 Vol. II. The Dancing Faun. By Florence Farr. 
 
 Vol. III. Poor Folk. Translated from the Russian of 
 
 F. Dostoievsky by Lena Milman. With 
 
 a Preface by George Moore. 
 
 Vol. IV. A Child of the Kc-k. By Francis Adams.
 
 THE PUBLICATIONS OF 
 
 KEVNOTF-S SERIES— fo;//;//M<r,/'. 
 
 Vol. V. The CJkeat God Pan and The Inmos 
 Light. By Arthur Machen. 
 
 [Second edition now ready. 
 Vol. VI. Discords. By George Egkrton. 
 
 [Fourth edition now ready. 
 Vol. VII. Prince Zaleski. By M. P. Shiel. 
 Vol. VIII. The Woman WHO Did. By Grant Allen. 
 
 [Eleventh edition now ready. 
 Vol. IX. Women's Tragediks. By II. D. Lowry. 
 Vol. X. Grey Roses. By Henry IIarland. 
 Vol. XI. At THE First Corner AND Other Stories. 
 ]5y II. B. Marriott Watson. 
 The following Volumes are in rapid preparation. 
 Vol. XII. Monochko.mes. By Ella D'Arcy. 
 Vol. XIII. At the Relton Arms. By Evelyn Sharp. 
 Vol. XIV. The Girl from the Farm. By Gertrddb 
 
 Dix. 
 Vol. XV. The Mirror of Music. By Stanley V. 
 
 Makower. 
 Vol. XVI. Yellow and White. By W. Carlton 
 
 Dawe. 
 Vol. XVII. The Mountain Lovers. By Fiona 
 
 Macleod. 
 Vol. XVIII. The Three Impostors. By Arthur 
 Machen. 
 Boston : Roberts Bros. 
 LANDER (HARRY). 
 
 Weighed in the Balance : A Novel. Crown 8vo. 
 4s. 6d. net. [In preparation, 
 
 LANG (ANDREW). 
 
 See Stoddart. 
 LEATHER (R. K.). 
 
 Verses. 250 copies. Fcap. 8vo. 3s. net. 
 
 Transferred by the Autlior to the present Publisher. 
 
 LE GALLIENNE (RICHARD). 
 
 Prose Fancies. With Portrait of the Author by 
 Wilson Steer. Fourth Edition. Crown 8vo. Purple 
 cloth. 5s. net. 
 
 Also a limited large paper edition. 12s. 6d. net 
 
 New York : G. P. Putnam's Sons.
 
 JOHN LANE 
 
 LE GALLIENNE (RICHARD). 
 
 The Book Bills of Narcissus, An Account rendered 
 
 by Richard le Gallienne. Third Edition. With 
 
 a Frontispiece. Crown 8vo. Purple cloth. 3s.6d.net. 
 
 Also 50 copies on large paper. 8vo. 10s. 6d. net. 
 
 New York : G. P. Putnam's Sons. 
 
 Robert Louis Stevenson, an Elegy, and Other 
 
 Poems, mainly Personal. With Etched Title-page 
 
 by D. Y.Cameron. Cr. Svo. Purplecloth.4s.6d.net. 
 
 Also 75 copies on large paper. Syo. 12s. 6d, net. [/« preparation. 
 Boston : Copeland & Day. 
 English Poems. Fourth Edition, revised. Crown Svo. 
 Purple cloth. 4s. 6d. net. [In preparation. 
 
 Boston : Copeland & Day. 
 
 Retrospective Reviews, A Literary Log, 1891-1895. 
 Crown Svo. Purple cloth. 5s. net. 
 
 [In preparation. 
 
 George Meredith : Some Characteristics. With a Biblio- 
 graphy (much enlarged) by JOHN Lane, portrait, etc. 
 Fourth Edition. Cr. Svo. Purple cloth. 5s. 6d. net. 
 
 The Religion of a Literary Man. 5th thousand. 
 Crown Svo. Purple cloth. 3s. 6d. net. 
 Also a special rubricated edition on hand-made paper. Bvo. 
 los. 6d. net. 
 
 New York : G. P. Putnam's Sons. 
 
 LOWRY (H. D.). 
 
 Women's Tragedies. {See Keynotes Series.) 
 
 LUCAS (WINIFRED). 
 
 A Volume of Poems. Fcap. Svo. 4s. 6d. net. 
 
 [In preparation. 
 LYNCH (HANNAH). 
 
 The Great Galeoto and Folly or Saintliness. Two 
 Plays, from the Spanish of Josfi Echegaray, with an 
 Introduction. Small 4to. 5s. 6d. net. 
 
 [In preparation. 
 MACHEN (ARTHUR). 
 
 The Great God Pan. {See Keynotes Series.) 
 The Three Impostors. {Sec Keynotes Series.) 
 
 MACLEOD (FIONA). 
 
 The Mountain Lovers. {See Keynotes Series.)
 
 to THE PUBLICATIONS OF 
 
 MAKOWER (STANLEY V.). 
 
 The Mirror of Music. {See Keynotes Series.) 
 
 MARZIALS (THEO.). 
 
 The Gali.kry of Pigeons and Other Poems. Post 
 8vo. 4s. 6d. net. [ Very Jew remain. 
 
 Trans/erred by th* Author to th€ present Pubiitktr. 
 
 MATIIEW (FRANK). 
 
 The Wood of the Brambles : A Novel. Crown 8vo. 
 4s. 6d. net. \^In preparation, 
 
 MEREDITH (GEORGE) 
 
 The P'irst Published Portrait of this Author, 
 engraved on the wood by W. BiscoMBE Gardner, 
 after the painting by G. F. Watts. Proof copies on 
 Japanese vellum. Signed by painter and engraver. 
 £,\, IS. net. 
 
 MEYNELL (MRS.), (ALICE C. THOMPSON). 
 
 Poems. Fcap. 8vo. 3s.6d.net. \Out of Print at present. 
 A few of the 50 lar^e paper copies (First Edition) remain, 12s. 6d. net 
 
 The Rhythm of Life and Other Essays. Second 
 Edition. Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d. net. 
 A few of the 50 large paper copies (First Edition) remaitl. 12s. 6d. net. 
 See also Hake. 
 
 MILLER (JOAQUIN). 
 
 The Building of thf. City Beautiful. Fcap. 8vo. 
 With a Decorated Cover. 5s. net. 
 Chicago : Stone & Kimball. 
 
 MILMAN (LENA). 
 
 Dostoievsky's Poor Folk. {See Keynotes Series.) 
 
 MONKHOUSE (ALLAN). 
 
 Books and Plays : A Volume of Essays on Meredith, 
 Borrow, Ibsen, and others. 400 copies. Crown 8vo. 
 5s. net. 
 
 Philadelphia : J. B. Lippincott Co. 
 MOORE (GEORGE). 
 
 See Keynotes Series, Vol. iii. 
 
 NESBIT (E.). 
 
 A Pomander of Vf.rse. With a Title-page and Cover 
 designed by Laurence Housman. Crown 8vo. 
 5$. net. \In preparation.
 
 JOHN LANE 
 
 NETTLESHIP (J. T.). 
 
 Robert Browning : Essays and Thoughts. Third 
 Edition. With a Portrait. Crown 8vo. 5s. 6d. net. 
 New York : Chas. Scribner's Sons. 
 
 NOBLE (JAS. ASHCROFT). 
 
 The Sonnet in England and Other Essays. Title- 
 page and Cover Design by Austin Young. 600 
 
 copies. Crown 8vo. 5^* ^^^^ 
 Also 50 copies large paper. 12s. 6d. net. 
 
 O'SHAUGHNESSY (ARTHUR). 
 
 His Life and His Work. With Selections from his 
 Poems. By Louise Chandler Moulton. Por- 
 trait and Cover Desic;n. Fcap. 8vo. 5s. net. 
 Chicago : Stone & Kimball. 
 
 OXFORD CHARACTERS. 
 
 A series of lithographed portraits by Will Rothenstein, 
 with text by F. York Powell and others. To be 
 issued monthly in term. Each number will contain 
 two portraits. Parts L to VL ready. 200 sets only, 
 folio, wrapper, 5s. net per part ; 25 special large 
 paper sets containing proof impressions of the por- 
 traits signed by the artist, los. 6d. net per part. 
 
 PETERS (WM. THEODORE). 
 
 Posies out of Rings. Sq. i6mo. 3s. 6d. net. 
 
 [In preparation. 
 PISSARRO (LUCIEN). 
 
 The Queen of the Fishes. A Story of the Valois, 
 adapted by Margaret Rust, being a printed manu- 
 script, decorated with pictures and other ornaments, 
 cut on the wood by LuciEN Pissarro, and printed 
 by him in divers colours and in gold at his press 
 in Epping. Edition limited to 70 copies, each num- 
 bered and signed. Crown 8vo. on Japanese hand- 
 made paper, bound in vellum, £l net. 
 
 PLARR (VICTOR). 
 
 In the Dorian Mood : Poems. Crown 8vo. 5s. net. 
 
 [/« preparation. 
 
 RADFORD (DOLLIE). 
 
 Songs and other Verses. Fcap. 8vo. 4s. 6d. net. 
 
 [/« preparation.
 
 la THE PUBLICATIONS OF 
 
 RAMSDEN (HERMIONE). 
 See Hansson. 
 
 RICKETTS (C. S.) and C. H. SHANNON. 
 
 Hero and Leander. By Christopher Marlowe 
 and George Chafman. With Borders, Initials, and 
 Illustrations designed and engraved on the wood by 
 C. S. RicKETTS and C. II. Shannon. Bound in 
 English vellum and gold. 200 copies only. 35s. net. 
 Boston : Copeland & Day. 
 
 RHYS (ERNEST). 
 
 A London Rose and Other Rhymes. With Title-page 
 designed by Selwyn Image. 350 copies. Crown 
 8vo. 5s. net. 
 
 New York : Dodd, Mead & Co. 
 
 ROBINSON (C. NEWTON). 
 
 The Viol of Love. With Ornaments and Cover design 
 by Laurence Housman. Crown 8vo. net. 
 
 [In preparation. 
 
 ST. CYRES (LORD). 
 
 The Little Flowers of St. Francis : A new ren- 
 dering into English of the Fioretti di San Francesco. 
 Crown 8vo. 5s. net. [In preparation. 
 
 SHARP (EVELYN). 
 
 At the Relton Arms. {See Keynotes Series.) 
 
 SHIEL (M. P.). 
 
 Prince Zaleskl {See Keynotes Series.) 
 
 STACPOOLE (H. DE VERE). 
 
 Death, the Knight and the Lady. Sq. i6mo. 
 2s. 6d. net. \In preparation, 
 
 STEVENSON (ROBERT LOUIS). 
 
 Prince Otto. A Rendering in French by Egerton 
 Castle. Crown 8vo. 5s. net. \In preparation. 
 
 Also 100 copies on large paper, uniform in size with the Edinburgh 
 Edition of the Works. 
 
 STODDART (THOS. TOD). 
 
 The Death Wake. With an Introduction by Andrew 
 Lang. Fcap. 8vo. net. \In preparation.
 
 JOHN LANE Z3 
 
 STREET (G. S.). 
 
 The Autobiography of a Boy. Passages selected by 
 his friend G. S. S. With Title-page designed by 
 C. W. FuRSE. Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d. net. 
 
 [Fourth Edition now ready. 
 Philadelphia : J. B. Lippincott Co, 
 
 Miniatures and Moods. Fcap. Svo. 3s. net. 
 
 Trans/erred by the Author to the present Publisher. 
 
 SWETTENHAM (F. W.). 
 
 Malay Sketches. Crown Svo. 53. 6d. net. 
 
 [ /« preparation. 
 TABB (JOHN B.). 
 
 Poems. Sq. 32010. 4s. 6d. net. 
 Boston : Copeland & Day. 
 
 TENNYSON (FREDERICK). 
 
 Poems of the Day and Year. Crown Svo. 5s. net. 
 
 [In preparation. 
 THIMM (C. A.). 
 
 A Complete Bibliography of the Art of Fence, 
 Duelling, etc. With Illustrations, 
 
 [In preparation. 
 THOMPSON (FRANCIS). 
 
 Poems. With Frontispiece, Title-page, and Cover Design 
 by Laurence Housman. Fourth Edition. Pott 
 4to. 5s. net. 
 
 Boston : Copeland & Day, 
 Songs Wing-to-Wing : An Offering to Two Sisters, 
 Pott 4to, 5s, net, [In preparation. 
 
 TYNAN HINKSON (KATHARINE). 
 
 Cuckoo Songs. With Title-page and Cover Design by 
 Laurence Housman. Fcap. Svo. 5s. net. 
 Boston : Copeland & Day. 
 Miracle Plays. [/« preparation. 
 
 WATSON (ROSAMUND MARRIOTT), 
 
 Vespertilia and other Poems. With a Title-page 
 designed by R. Anning Bell. Fcap. Svo. 4s. 6d. 
 net. [In preparation. 
 
 WATSON (H. B. MARRIOTT). 
 
 At the First Corner. {See Keynotes Series.)
 
 14 THE PUBLICATIONS OF 
 
 WATSON (WILLIAM). 
 
 Odes and Other Poems. Fourth Edition. Fcap. 8vo, 
 buckram. 4s. 6d. net. 
 
 New York : Macmillan & Co. 
 The Eloi'Ing Angels: A Caprice. Second Edition. 
 Square i6mo, buckram. 3s. 6d. net. 
 New York : Macmillan & Co. 
 Excursions in Criticism : being some Prose Recrea- 
 tions of a Rhymer. Second Edition. Cr. 8vo. 5s.net. 
 New York : Macmillan & Co. 
 The Prince's Quest and Other Poems. With a 
 Bibliographical Note added. Second Edition. Fcap. 
 8vo. 4s. 6d. net. 
 WATT (FRANCIS). 
 
 The Law's Lumber Room. Fcap. 8vo. 3s, 6d. net. 
 
 [/« preparation. 
 WATTS (THEODORE). 
 
 Poems. Crown Svo. 5s. net. [/« preparation. 
 
 There tuill also be an Edition de Luxe oj this volume printed at 
 the Kelmscott Press. 
 WELLS (H. G.). 
 
 Select Conversations with an Uncle, since 
 Deceased. With a Title-page designed by F. H. 
 TowNSEND. Fcap. 8vo. 3s. 6d. net. \_In preparation. 
 WHARTON (H. T.). 
 
 Sappho. Memoir, Text, Selected Renderings, and a 
 Literal Translation by Henry Thornton Wharton. 
 With three Illustrations in photogravure, and a Cover 
 designed by Aubrey Beardsley. Fcap. Svo. 
 7s. 6d. net. \^In preparation, 
 
 THE YELLOW BOOK 
 
 An Illustrated Quarterly 
 
 Vol. I. Fourth Edition, 272 pages, 15 Illustrations, Title-page, 
 and a Cover Design. Cloth. Price 5^. lut. Pott 4/0. 
 
 The Literary Contributions by Max Beerbohm, A. C. Benson, 
 Hubert Crackanthorpe, Ella D'Arcy, John David- 
 son, George Egerton, Richard Garnett, Edmund 
 GossE, Henry Harland, John Oliver Hobbes, Henry 
 James, Richard le Gallienne, George Moore, 
 George Saintsbury, Fred. M. Simpson, Arthur 
 Symons, William Watson, Arthur Waugh.
 
 JOHN LANE IS 
 
 The Art Contributions by Sir Frederic Leighton, P.R.A., 
 Adbrey Beardsley, R. Anning Bell, Charles VV. 
 FuRSE, Laurence Housman, J. T. Nettleship, Joseph 
 Pennell, Will Rothenstein, Walter Sickert. 
 
 Vol.11. Third Edition. Pott ^o^^t^d, pages, zt. Illustrations, 
 and a New Title-page and Cover Design. Cloth. Price ^s. net. 
 
 The Literary Contributions by Frederick Greenwood, 
 Ella D'Arcy, Charles Willeby, John Davidson, 
 Henry Harland, Dollie Radford, Charlotte M. 
 Mew, Austin Dobson, V,, O., C. S., Katharine de 
 Mattos, Philip Gilbert Hamerton, Ronald Camp- 
 bell Macfie, Dauphin Meunier, Kenneth Grahame, 
 Norman Gale, Netta Syrett, Hubert Crackan- 
 thorpe, Alfred Hayes, Max Beerbohm, William 
 Watson, and Henry James. 
 
 The Art Contributions by Walter Crane, A. S. Hartrick, 
 Aubrey Beardsley, Alfred Thornton, P. Wilson 
 Steer, John S. Sargent, A.R.A., Sydney Adamson, 
 Walter Sickert, W. Brown MacDougal, E. J. 
 Sullivan, Francis Forster, Bernhard Sickert, 
 and Aymer Vallance. 
 
 A Special Feature of Volume ll. is a frank criticism of 
 the Literature and Art of Volume I. by Philip Gilbert 
 Hamerton. 
 
 Vol.111. Third Edition. Now Ready, Pott i,to, z%o pages, 
 15 Illustrations, and a New Title-page and Cover Design. 
 Cloth. Price ^s. net. 
 
 The Literary Contributions by William Watson, Kenneth 
 Grahame, Arthur Symons, Ella D'Arcy, Jose Maria 
 DE Heredia, Ellen M. Clerke, Henry Harland, 
 Theo Marzials, Ernest Dowson, Theodore Wratis- 
 law, Arthur Moore, Olive Custance, Lionel John- 
 son, Annie Macdonell, C. S., Nora Hopper, S. 
 Cornish Watkins, Hubert Crackanthorpe, Morton 
 Fullerton, Leila Macdonald, C. W. Dalmon, Max 
 Beerbohm, and John Davidson. 
 
 The Art Contributions by Philip Broughton, George 
 Thomson, Aubrey Beardsley, Albert Foschter, 
 Walter Sickert, P. Wilson Steer, William Hyde, 
 and Max Beerbohm.
 
 i« THE PUBLICATIONS OF JOHN LANE 
 
 Vol. IV. Second F.dition. Now Ready. Pott 4fo, 2$$ fiagts, 
 1 6 Fullfai;e Illustrations. With New Title-page and 
 Cover Designs and a Double-page Supplement by Aubrey 
 Beardsley. Price ^s. net. 
 
 The Literary Contributions by Richard Le Gallienne, 
 Henry IIarlanp, Graham R. Tomson, II. B. Marriott 
 Watson, Dolf Wym.ardr, Mi^inir Muriel Dowie, 
 Olive Custance, James Ashcroft Noni.E, Leila Mac- 
 DONALD, C. S., Richard Garnett, Victoria Cross, 
 Charles Sydney, Kenneth Grahame, C. Newton 
 Robinson, Norman Hapgood, E. Nesbit, Marion Hup- 
 worth Dixon, C. W. Dalmon, Evelyn Sharp, Max 
 Beerbohm, and John Davidson. 
 
 The Art Contributions by II. J. Draper, William Myde, 
 Walter Sickert, Patten Wilson, W. W. Russell, >> 
 A. S. Hartrick, Charles Conder, Will Rothenstein, 
 Miss Sumner, P. Wilson Steer, and Aubrey Beards- 
 ley, 
 
 Vol. V. Now Ready. Pott ^to, P^Jges, i6 Full- page Illus- 
 trations and New Title-page and Cover Designs. Price ^s. 
 net. 
 
 The Literary Contributions by William Watson, H. D. 
 Traill, Richard le Gallienne, Ella D'Arcy, Rosa- 
 mund Marriott- Watson, Kenneth Grahame, Henry 
 Harland, Dauphin Meunier, Mrs. Murray IIickson, 
 Edmund Gosse, Charles Kennett Burrow, Leila 
 Macdonald, Hubert Crackanthorpe, Ernest Went- 
 •worth, C. S., G. S. Street, Nora Hopper, James 
 Ashcroft Noble, B. Paul Neuman, Evelyn Sharp, 
 W. A. Mackenzie, Mrs. Ernest Leverson, Richard 
 Garnett, Maurice Baring, Norman Gale, Anatole 
 France, and John Davidson. 
 
 The Art Contributions by E. A. WaltoN, R. Anning Bell, 
 Alfred Thornton, 'f. G. Cotman, P. Wilson Steer, 
 A. S. Hartrick, Robert Halls, Walter Sickert, 
 Constantin Guys, and Aubrey Beardsley. 
 
 Prospectuses Post Free on Application, 
 
 LONDON : JOHN LANE 
 BOSTON : COPEI-AND & DAY 
 
 cV^ 
 
 "l 
 
 r 
 
 /"
 
 V r\M 1 \j «4 1 ■ * • 
 
 
 kuvrnr;. 
 
 in^ wrrifr 
 
 imMiXo/ 
 
 ■s^^^ ..luiirtii 1 o 
 
 ^ 
 
 University of California 
 
 SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 305 De Neve Drive - Parking Lot 17 • Box 951388 
 
 LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA 90095-1388 
 
 Return this material to the library from which it was borrowed. 
 
 n 
 
 •1 
 
 •^J 
 
 is; 
 
 ^WEUNIVERV/, 
 
 'J- ;^^ 
 
 \ 
 
 .lOSANC
 
 &Aavaaii^v> ^OAavaaii-^v^ 
 
 sMEUNIVERS//;^ 
 
 n-vmm^ 
 
 
 
 /^XaunirviCOLlN^ 
 
 VA>llAlNn]\\V' 
 
 158 0101 
 
 7 
 
 93 
 
 > 
 ^ 
 
 CD 
 
 ^. 
 
 ^ ^ 
 
 
 ^JllVDJO"^ ^<i/OJllV>JCi>' 
 
 
 ^WEL'NIVER% 
 
 o 
 
 SlLIBRARYQ^ 
 
 vj^lOSANCEL5j> 
 
 3> =j 
 
 %a3AIN(l-3WV 
 
 4? 
 
 Co 
 
 >;.OFCAllFOff^ ^OFCALIFO/?^ 
 
 
 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 ^'<i/0JllV3-JO^ 
 
 ^<!/0JnV3JO'^ 
 
 o 
 
 :Eifx 
 
 ^i 
 
 '^/5a3AiNn3Uv' 
 
 .OFCAllFOff^j 
 
 t?Abvaaii^^ 
 
 ^QFCALIFO/?^ 
 
 CD 
 
 ^ 
 
 *:,.,v^ 
 
 
 ,^WE•UNIVER5■//^ 
 
 
 
 ~ ^ o 
 
 
 ;5 
 
 '^^y3AIN(l-3\<v^ 
 
 SMEUNIVERS-//, 
 
 o 
 
 ^V:lOS-ANCElfj> 
 
 v/^a3AiNa-3Wv 
 
 ^^tllBRARYr .:^IIIBRARYQ^ 
 
 '^<!/0JnV3JO'^ ^(i/OdllVJ-JO'^ 
 
 \\\EUNIVERS//- 
 
 ^>:lOSANCElfj> 
 
 
 ■^/sajAiN^iuv 
 
 X;OFCALIFO/?;(> .s^OFCAllFO/, 
 
 ^<5Aavaaii# >&Aavaan-^^^ 
 
 .\f.llRPADV./n/ 
 
 ,vaP.IIRPARY./)>. 
 
 .•^UFI!fJIVFR.?/>. 
 
 .vinSANf.Flfn.
 
 :i''^^^m&