The Savoy . n have named beauty. Your heavy leaves enfold The ancient beards, the helms of ruby and gold Of the crowned Magi; and the Hound of Cu Who met Fand walking among flaming dew, And lost the world and Emer for a kiss ; And him who drove the gods out of their liss, And till a hundred morns had flowered red Feasted and wept the barrows of his dead ; And the proud dreaming king who flung the crown And sorrow away, and calling bard and clown Dwelt among wine-stained wanderers in deep woods ; And him who sold tillage, and house, and goods, And sought through lands and islands numberless yea
The Savoy . n have named beauty. Your heavy leaves enfold The ancient beards, the helms of ruby and gold Of the crowned Magi; and the Hound of Cu Who met Fand walking among flaming dew, And lost the world and Emer for a kiss ; And him who drove the gods out of their liss, And till a hundred morns had flowered red Feasted and wept the barrows of his dead ; And the proud dreaming king who flung the crown And sorrow away, and calling bard and clown Dwelt among wine-stained wanderers in deep woods ; And him who sold tillage, and house, and goods, And sought through lands and islands numberless years, Until he found, with laughter and with tears, A woman, of so shining loveliness, That men threshed corn at midnight by a tress, A little stolen , too, await The hour of thy great wind of love and hate. When shall the stars be blown about the sky, Like the sparks blown out of a smithy, and die ? Surely thine hour has come, thy great wind blows, Far off, most secret, and inviolate Rose? W. B. THE OLD WOMEN ^ul$ m zlMi HEY pass upon their old, tremulous feet,Creeping with little satchels down the street,And they remember, many years ago,Passing that way in silks. They wander, slowAnd solitary, through the city ways,And they alone remember those old daysMen have forgotten. In their shaking headsA dancer of old carnivals yet treadsThe measure of past waltzes, and they seeThe candles lit again, the patchouli Sweeten the air, and the warm cloud of musk Enchant the passing of the passionate dusk. Then you will see a light begin to creep Under the earthen eyelids, dimmed with sleep, And a new tremor, happy and uncouth, Jerking about the corners of the mouth. Then the old head drops down again, and shakes, Muttering. Sometimes, when the swift gaslight wakes The dreams and fever of the sleepless town, A shaking huddled thing in a black gown Will steal at midnight, carrying with her Violet little bags of lavender, Into the tap-room full of noisy light; Or, at the crowded
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Keywords: ., boo, bookcentury1800, booksubjectart, booksubjectliteraturemodern
