POETRY.

BESIDE THE POOL.

CLAD with soft wind and sacred virgin light

Against the shock of my too insolent sight, Or with your hair's smouldering and gleaming shroud The neck and quickening bosom's globe to cloud (As those thick wreaths the world's unsetting sun, That take and give new splendour)-- " Speak not so Of that ill thing a shroud.

Thy breath is loud And Death who knows how near I I, that fear not, fear For her."

—Hair that's spun By that invisible worm, of light and dew, Now dense and dark, now shaken to let through Your shoulder's snow- " 0 worm, spin slow,

And Time, stoop Down from thy throne To, grope

Blind and alone."

Clothed only so and all unclothed you stand With calm hand nursing white unfretful hand, And firm and shady thighs like faint-swayed trees On beechen hill, and never trembling knees Where swiftness hides with strength- " Hush, Death—even so.

Vaunt not thy speed—I know.. Thou and thy flying worm Dost unbuild the firm, Outrun the swift.

I know, who does not know 71, —And now your feet Press the year's first pale clover of its sweet . .

Stay ! Here, if here thou must, beside thy pool

Dress thee, but leave, thine image in its cool

Scarce quivering depth, that.' when thou art gone May find thy body still to gaze upon.

" Now sleep, or go Whither thou wilt. No eye

Thee

ear

ee will now defy,

No Forget to fear If thy gnat wail near."

Sax to thy skin—bring not acquainted thus With tissue of thy flesh the emulous Craft of the worm who spins—ah, silk is nought But a reproof—and spur—of my wild thought Abashless. What now will those hands do ?

Bind up your burning hair : so tall slaves go, Nose-ringed and bearing on each ebony skull Queen's treasure when the gilded dynasts fall.

Bears your neck's tower that weight of dusk and gold ?

Even so. But what needs else, why new enfold Garment with garment ? What shame has shamefaced you, Bosom and body and thighs and legs to endue With tint of peacock and dust-feathered dove, And deathlike black—unmeet, unmeet for Love ?

Was nakedness disgrace, showed my eyes sin In their repleaded plea, that you hid in

Your silks and hues, and last the greedy black

Swallowing from foot to knee ?

You turn your back.

It is no more you—your lightfoot walk, your sway, Like hill-crest beeches when the winds affray, Your still unhurried motion like the cloud Breasting the south-west wind, your wide and proud Averting look on me who stand, and stare Then on the pool's calm deep—and find you there.

And you asleep ?

Looked you not when Her beam she dimmed-- Bright-hued, black-limb' d ? Is that wailing, dizzy