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You roses that lean away to the South,You lilies the wind wanders overCarry these kisses away from my mouthTo the pretty curved lips of my lover.Please her and soothe her and smooth her hair,Fragrant, and colored with pansies,Lull her and sing to her dreaming there,Maiden sweet with her fancies.And you, O winds, that so carelessly go,Lifting across the green grasses,You, O winds, who exultantly knowThat she is the Lady of Lasses,Breathe on and warm her and charm her there,And into the dusk of her sleepingBring her soft melodies crooning whereHoneysuckle is creeping.
You roses that lean away to the South,You lilies the wind wanders overCarry these kisses away from my mouthTo the pretty curved lips of my lover.Please her and soothe her and smooth her hair,Fragrant, and colored with pansies,Lull her and sing to her dreaming there,Maiden sweet with her fancies.And you, O winds, that so carelessly go,Lifting across the green grasses,You, O winds, who exultantly knowThat she is the Lady of Lasses,Breathe on and warm her and charm her there,And into the dusk of her sleepingBring her soft melodies crooning whereHoneysuckle is creeping.
You roses that lean away to the South,You lilies the wind wanders overCarry these kisses away from my mouthTo the pretty curved lips of my lover.Please her and soothe her and smooth her hair,Fragrant, and colored with pansies,Lull her and sing to her dreaming there,Maiden sweet with her fancies.
You roses that lean away to the South,
You lilies the wind wanders over
Carry these kisses away from my mouth
To the pretty curved lips of my lover.
Please her and soothe her and smooth her hair,
Fragrant, and colored with pansies,
Lull her and sing to her dreaming there,
Maiden sweet with her fancies.
And you, O winds, that so carelessly go,Lifting across the green grasses,You, O winds, who exultantly knowThat she is the Lady of Lasses,Breathe on and warm her and charm her there,And into the dusk of her sleepingBring her soft melodies crooning whereHoneysuckle is creeping.
And you, O winds, that so carelessly go,
Lifting across the green grasses,
You, O winds, who exultantly know
That she is the Lady of Lasses,
Breathe on and warm her and charm her there,
And into the dusk of her sleeping
Bring her soft melodies crooning where
Honeysuckle is creeping.
F. D. ASHBURN.
He lifted his head. He was drowsy and the dim light created an atmosphere of restfulness. The rough wooden bench on which he sat lay against the wall and the hardness of it, and the stone behind him, caused him to move uneasily in an attempt to adjust himself to a greater degree of comfort. He ceased to wonder why he stayed. It was an old church seldom visited by tourists, perhaps because there was little of beauty about its grey walls and ancient altar-stones. True, it had its tradition and history, but little had occurred in this out-of-the-way corner of England to cause the traveller to turn his steps thither. Mossgrew within the crevices, while the cold sides of a dismembered tomb, lying open to the fading sunlight through a ruined corner, was the chapel of a horde of flowers that climbed up and about it in long trailing wreaths.
Another corner, on the far side, contained the hideously modern statue of a saint who stood with a finger warningly upraised, his gaze upon one sandalled foot which stood revealed from beneath the painted cassock. A sign beside him besought the curious to burn a candle; but there were no candles and the saint himself seemed to have fallen on hard days: his color had faded and his nose was broken.
Through the one-time windows the evening sun was slipping away beneath a rose and gold cloak, and the blue of the hills was dark against the paler blue of the sky. The mists from below crept up slowly, like white shepherds driving their sheep. It became thicker, after a little, and darker; the saint in his corner became a dim misshape, and, when the man raised his head again, it was nearly dark. He sprang to his feet with an exclamation and crossed towards the door, but he could not see his way and he felt around the wall until he came to the tomb, where he paused for a moment to consider.
From somewhere below, there came a faint piping. He raised his head to listen, but it had gone and a feeling akin to apprehension stole over him. It was strange to be alone in this once holy place, and he determined to wait until the moon had risen and he could see to make his way down to the village again. Something stirred before him and a small shape scurried past his feet; he could hear it scraping across the stone flagging. He called to it gently and there was silence which, although he listened for several minutes, was not broken.
Drowsiness came upon him. He lay back upon the stone and closed his eyes. When he awoke the moon was shining down upon him softly, a silver Argos on a winking sea. He was strangely content, and it seemed at last that the moon was falling and he could hear laughing voices about him, and that a fierce, wild wind was lashing itself around him. He felt himself lifted and carried he knew not where; but the moon was beside him, small like a lantern, and he turned his head to watch it glimmer.
He thought he stood upon a high tower, while the wind sang about him and the moon lay still at his feet like a silver bubble. Below him lay the land, barren and grey like a dusky desert, while through it ran a blue stream threading its way to the distant horizon. Then the wind caught him up again and the moon brushed against his hand as they rose.
They were passing over a mighty sea and he saw, tossing upon the crest of a mighty wave, a tiny ship, and he seemed to hear the cries of the sailors; and the wind bore him on its way until he found himself upon the shore of the sea, the moon hanging a little above him. Beside him stood a warrior, clad in armor and leaning upon his shield. He moved a little nearer and, as he looked into his face, the warrior turned away and let his shield fall upon the ground. Whereupon the waves crept up around it and carried it away with them down into the sea.
He stood upon a city wall. Below him the people were crowding the marketplaces. Some carried torches and others garlands. It was a time of rejoicing, but, hovered against the wall, he saw a beggar, old and blind. He called upon the wind to take him away and he saw no more.
Their way lay over strange lands and grey mountains, and he lay half sleeping as the wind bore him on its way. At last he felt himself falling.
He lay upon a barge going down a golden river. He could hear the boatmen singing as they swept their oars against the side. He opened his eyes. For a moment he stared fixedly and saw above him two shining stars which laughed and danced like liquid flames. He knew at once that they were eyes, the eyes of a woman bent low over him. Her lips gleamed red against the whiteness of her face, and about her white shoulders her black hair tumbled like an angry sea. She was singing softly above the chant of the boatmen and her words were these:
“Come sail with me along Romance’s golden streams,Our ship, Imagination, and our sailwinds—dreams!”
“Come sail with me along Romance’s golden streams,Our ship, Imagination, and our sailwinds—dreams!”
“Come sail with me along Romance’s golden streams,Our ship, Imagination, and our sailwinds—dreams!”
“Come sail with me along Romance’s golden streams,
Our ship, Imagination, and our sailwinds—dreams!”
He reached his arms up to her, but her face had faded and he could see only the moon high above, a dim white light steady, clear, and cold.
He lay in the green rushes and saw the face of a water nymph laughing at him through the parted reeds. He stood within the vaulted chambers of a mighty castle where ghosts of dreams he dreamt which never came true, paced to and fro before him. At last he stood alone in a great lonely place, vastness about him and vastness below him. And then the moon fell beside him and he saw that she was a maid clad in silver cobwebs and sheen and that across her eyes was a mask of cloud. She put her lips to his and, though her lips were still, she sang:
“Night has been pierced and dawn’s scarletRuns from the wound.”
“Night has been pierced and dawn’s scarletRuns from the wound.”
“Night has been pierced and dawn’s scarletRuns from the wound.”
“Night has been pierced and dawn’s scarlet
Runs from the wound.”
He awoke with a start. The mists of morning lay about. The saint in his corner was smiling, or was it a ray of sunlight which lay across his lips? The mists were shot with amber and gold. It was morning.
PHILIP J. D. VAN DYKE.
As through the park at dusk we went,My Lady Evelyn and I,The night-winds through the tall trees sentA low moan trailing to a sigh.And happy voices hushed to seeThe majesty soft darkness lent,While all romance came back to me,As through the gathering night we went.And I would have it always so,To live in joy until I die,That through the dusk might ever goMy lady Evelyn and I.
As through the park at dusk we went,My Lady Evelyn and I,The night-winds through the tall trees sentA low moan trailing to a sigh.And happy voices hushed to seeThe majesty soft darkness lent,While all romance came back to me,As through the gathering night we went.And I would have it always so,To live in joy until I die,That through the dusk might ever goMy lady Evelyn and I.
As through the park at dusk we went,My Lady Evelyn and I,The night-winds through the tall trees sentA low moan trailing to a sigh.
As through the park at dusk we went,
My Lady Evelyn and I,
The night-winds through the tall trees sent
A low moan trailing to a sigh.
And happy voices hushed to seeThe majesty soft darkness lent,While all romance came back to me,As through the gathering night we went.
And happy voices hushed to see
The majesty soft darkness lent,
While all romance came back to me,
As through the gathering night we went.
And I would have it always so,To live in joy until I die,That through the dusk might ever goMy lady Evelyn and I.
And I would have it always so,
To live in joy until I die,
That through the dusk might ever go
My lady Evelyn and I.
R. P. CRENSHAW, JR.