The times. [volume] (Washington [D.C.]) 1897-1901, 1900-06-03
CURRENT VERSE.


A poet at my portal2 Ho! -
summon our household, knight and knave.
Let trumpets from the towers blow,
strew rushcs, make the chamber brave.
What say you, hath he garb Of green
Silken and ample, folding down
Straightway from of lordly mien;
Are Iaureis woven for his CROWN
Are gems set deep upon the hand
That idles with the strings divine,
Do strainiDg leopaTds itad his band
Are bearers bent with skins of wine?
Go forth and greet him! IIo, my staff,
Mine ermines. Bid my queen attend!
A Poet? We SHAH love anu laugh
And hit the cup TIL laInpnght end.
Spread napery, trim the banquet wicks,
Make reauy fruits and Gates OF price,
Let flow the watts, and stralghtway mix
a costly vintage rich with spice.
Lo, he has journeyed; make him ease
OF scented waters, linen sweet;
Forget 10 maiden ministries;
Win unbound hlletS dry his feet.
Music! Bring viols OF tender tone,
Low-Drea,hiny horns, the siVery harp
No clamor, no bassOon 10 moan,
No hautboy sGudGeriDg bign and sharp.
He enters, say you? Truth, but where
The EthIops that should MT his train,
The rhythmic dancers aEkie-bare,
The glow, the scent, the sapphic stralnt
Alone, in simple tunic grey!
No harp, nor any leaf OF green
Ills but within, an antic play,
A masque to mock lis oil our spleen.
Bid him ascend beside US here.
Greeting, Sir Poet, Joy and health.
But you come to dwell year
This rsalm were barren Of its wealth.
Full many a moon we droop and die;
very winter ehills our wit;
Laughter We crave, the twinkiirg eye
And fond romance in passion writ.
God save us, thou hast come from far!
Ay, travelled many leagues, my Lord.
And much have seen? Ay, stream and star,
And wildwood green and Swallowed sward.
Then sit and tell us-eye and hand
And voice triple music-Yea,
Ny steps have measured many land
Where beauty waits beside the way.
But what of logging ballads sung,
And roses reddeniBg every road,
And wreaths from castle easements flung,
And ribbon.d towns that focked abroad2
Nay, these knew not, save you, Sire;
l kept the byways sweet and still,
Ny feet were friendly with the mire,
Ny house is but roofess hill.
My dance is when the tiptoe sun
Makes merry through an oaken wood,
Ny roses round the matches run,
The brier berries are my food;
For music, just the nightingale
Nay, { is 4 Jest. Ho, summon up
His people. Ere We hear the tale
Let's eat and empty out the cupi
Nay, Sire, my people are but such
As tiuted once on sylvan reeds:
Seers who felt the fngtr-touch
OF Pan and played OF mythic deeds;
Or such as walk the moving air
With ruinor OF the might Of old,
OF wisdom that was once despair,
OF love thousand lutes foretold.
Marry, his wit is passrg rare
a merry fellow!-Nay, the quip
Hath lost its savoi Sire, fare
Alone. what faithtuller fellowship?
For Nature loves no gobotween
To listen at her cloister-lstch;
Alone I trode the listening green
And slept below the forest thatch.
Alone won the siienccs,
The SUBMITS OF the sovereign mind,
And backward, like ascending seas
/ saw the moving millions blind
Save you, Sir Bard, ;. is song we crave,
No sermon. Ere the banquet chill
Get down and dine, defy the grave,
Pour wine within, the fagon fill!
10, draw the silks, the tapers touch;
Poet, behold, the lacaeys bow
Nay, Sire, tarry overmuch.
simple crust were sweeter now.
Harrison S. Morris in the Atlantic.