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You came to me bearing bright roses； Red like the wine of your heart；
You twisted them into a garland To set me aside from the mart。 Red
roses to crown me your lover； And I walked aureoled and apart。
Enslaved and encircled； I bore it； Proud token of my gift to you。 The
petals waned paler； and shriveled； And dropped； and the thorns started
through。 Bitter thorns to proclaim me your lover； A diadem woven with
rue。
To Elizabeth Ward Perkins
Dear Bessie； would my tired rhyme Had force to rise from apathy；
And shaking off its lethargy Ring word…tones like a Christmas chime。
But in my soul's high belfry； chill The bitter wind of doubt has blown；
The summer swallows all have flown； The bells are frost…bound； mute and
still。
Upon the crumbling boards the snow Has drifted deep； the clappers
hang Prismed with icicles； their clang Unheard since ages long ago。
The rope I pull is stiff and cold； My straining ears detect no sound
Except a sigh； as round and round The wind rocks through the timbers old。
Below； I know the church is bright With haloed tapers； warm with
prayer； But here I only feel the air Of icy centuries of night。
Beneath my feet the snow is lit And gemmed with colours； red； and
blue； Topaz； and green； where light falls through The saints that in the
windows sit。
Here darkness seems a spectred thing； Voiceless and haunting； while
the stars Mock with a light of long dead years The ache of present
suffering。
Silent and winter…killed I stand； No carol hymns my debt to you；
But take this frozen thought in lieu； And thaw its music in your hand。
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A Dome of Many…Coloured Glass
The Promise of the Morning Star
Thou father of the children of my brain By thee engendered in my
willing heart； How can I thank thee for this gift of art Poured out so
lavishly； and not in vain。
What thou created never more can die； Thy fructifying power lives
in me And I conceive； knowing it is by thee； Dear other parent of my
poetry！
For I was but a shadow with a name； Perhaps by now the very
name's forgot； So strange is Fate that it has been my lot To learn through
thee the presence of that aim
Which evermore must guide me。 All unknown； By me unguessed；
by thee not even dreamed； A tree has blossomed in a night that seemed
Of stubborn； barren wood。 For thou hast sown
This seed of beauty in a ground of truth。 Humbly I dedicate myself；
and yet I tremble with a sudden fear to set New music ringing through
my fading youth。
JK。 Huysmans
A flickering glimmer through a window…pane； A dim red glare through
mud bespattered glass； Cleaving a path between blown walls of sleet
Across uneven pavements sunk in slime To scatter and then quench itself
in mist。 And struggling； slipping； often rudely hurled Against the jutting
angle of a wall； And cursed； and reeled against； and flung aside By
drunken brawlers as they shuffled past； A man was groping to what
seemed a light。 His eyelids burnt and quivered with the strain Of looking；
and against his temples beat The all enshrouding； suffocating dark。 He
stumbled； lurched； and struck against a door That opened； and a howl of
obscene mirth Grated his senses； wallowing on the floor Lay men； and
dogs and women in the dirt。 He sickened； loathing it； and as he gazed The
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A Dome of Many…Coloured Glass
candle guttered； flared； and then went out。
Through travail of ignoble midnight streets He came at last to shelter
in a porch Where gothic saints and warriors made a shield To cover him；
and tortured gargoyles spat One long continuous stream of silver rain That
clattered down from myriad roofs and spires Into a darkness； loud with
rushing sound Of water falling； gurgling as it fell； But always thickly dark。
Then as he leaned Unconscious where； the great oak door blew back And
cast him； bruised and dripping； in the church。 His eyes from long
sojourning in the night Were blinded now as by some glorious sun； He
slowly crawled toward the altar steps。 He could not think； for heavy in his
ears An organ boomed majestic harmonies； He only knew that what he
saw was light！ He bowed himself before a cross of flame And shut his
eyes in fear lest it should fade。
March Evening
Blue through the window burns the twilight； Heavy； through trees；
blows the warm south wind。 Glistening； against the chill； gray sky light；
Wet； black branches are barred and entwined。
Sodden and spongy； the scarce…green grass plot Dents into pools
where a foot has been。 Puddles lie spilt in the road a mass； not Of water；
but steel； with its cold； hard sheen。
Faint fades the fire on the hearth； its embers Scattering wide at a
stronger gust。 Above； the old weathercock groans； but remembers
Creaking； to turn； in its centuried rust。
Dying； forlorn； in dreary sorrow； Wrapping the mists round her
withering form； Day sinks down； and in darkness to…morrow Travails to
birth in the womb of the storm。
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A Dome of Many…Coloured Glass
Sonnets
Leisure
Leisure； thou goddess of a bygone age； When hours were long and
days sufficed to hold Wide…eyed delights and pleasures uncontrolled By
shortening moments； when no gaunt presage Of undone duties； modern
heritage； Haunted our happy minds； must thou withhold Thy presence
from this over…busy world； And bearing silence with thee disengage Our
twined fortunes？ Deeps of unhewn woods Alone can cherish thee；
alone possess Thy quiet； teeming vigor。 This our crime： Not to have
worshipped； marred by alien moods That sole condition of all loveliness；
The dreaming lapse of slow； unmeasured time。
On Carpaccio's Picture： The Dream of St。 Ursula
Swept； clean； and still； across the polished floor From some
unshuttered casement； hid from sight； The level sunshine slants； its
greater light Quenching the little lamp which pallid； poor； Flickering；
unreplenished； at the door Has striven against darkness the long night。
Dawn fills the room； and penetrating； bright； The silent sunbeams through
the window pour。 And she lies sleeping； ignorant of Fate； Enmeshed in
listless dreams； her soul not yet Ripened to bear the purport of this day。
The morning breeze scarce stirs the coverlet； A shadow falls across the
sunlight； wait！ A lark is singing as he flies away。
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A Dome of Many…Coloured Glass
The Matrix
Goaded and harassed in the factory That tears our life up into bits of
days Ticked off upon a clock which never stays； Shredding our portion
of Eternity； We break away at last； and steal the key Which hides a world
empty of hours； ways Of space unroll； and Heaven overlays The leafy；
sun…lit earth of Fantasy。 Beyond the ilex shadow glares the sun；
Scorching against the blue flame of the sky。 Brown lily…pads lie heavy and
supine Within a granite basin； under one The bronze…gold glimmer of a
carp； and I Reach out my hand and pluck a nectarine。
Monadnock in Early Spring
Cloud…topped and splendid； dominating all The little lesser hills
which compass thee； Thou standest； bright with April's buoyan