Yet somewhere an oasis lies;

There waters arise

To nourish one seedling of balm,

Perhaps, or one palm.

As the Sea,

Murmuring, shifting, swaying;
One time sunnily playing,

One time wrecking and slaying;
In whichever mood it be,
Worst or best,

Never at rest.

As still Waters and deep,

As shallow Waters that brawl,

As rapid Waters that leap

To their fall.

As Music, as Color, as Shape,
Keys of rapture and pain
Turning in vain

In a lock which turns not again,

While breaths and moments escape.

As Spring, all bloom and desire ;

As Summer, all gift and fire;

As Autumn, a dying glow;

As Winter, with nought to show :

Winter which lays its dead all out of sight,

All clothed in white,

All waiting for the long-awaited light.

A BALLAD OF BODING.

HERE are sleeping dreams and waking dreams;

THE

What seems is not always as it seems.

I looked out of my window in the sweet new morning, And there I saw three barges of manifold adorning Went sailing toward the East:

The first had sails like fire,

The next like glittering wire,

But sackcloth were the sails of the least;

And all the crews made music, and two had spread a

feast.

The first choir breathed in flutes,

And fingered soft guitars;

The second won from lutes
Harmonious chords and jars,

With drums for stormy bars:

But the third was all of harpers and scarlet trumpeters ;

Notes of triumph, then

An alarm again,

As for onset, as for victory, rallies, stirs,

Peace at last and glory to the vanquishers.

The first barge showed for figurehead a Love with wings;
The second showed for figurehead a Worm with stings;
The third, a Lily tangled to a Rose which clings.
The first bore for freight gold and spice and down;
The second bore a sword, a sceptre, and a crown ;
The third, a heap of earth gone to dust and brown.
Winged Love meseemed like Folly in the face;
Stinged Worm meseemed loathly in his place;
Lily and Rose were flowers of grace.

Merry went the revel of the fire-sailed crew,
Singing, feasting, dancing to and fro :

Pleasures ever changing, ever graceful, ever new ;

Sighs, but scarce of woe;

All the sighing

Wooed such sweet replying;

All the sighing, sweet and low,

Used to come and go

For more pleasure, merely so.

Yet at intervals some one grew tired

Of everything desired,

And sank, I knew not whither, in sorry plight,

Out of sight.

The second crew seemed ever

Wider-visioned, graver,

More distinct of purpose, more sustained of will;

With heads erect and proud,

And voices sometimes loud;

With endless tacking, counter-tacking,

All things grasping, all things lacking,

It would seem;

Ever shifting helm, or sail, or shroud,

Drifting on as in a dream.

Hoarding to their utmost bent,

Feasting to their fill,

Yet gnawed by discontent,

Envy, hatred, malice, on their road they went.

Their freight was not a treasure,

Their music not a pleasure;

The sword flashed, cleaving through their bands,

Sceptre and crown changed hands.

The third crew as they went

Seemed mostly different;

They toiled in rowing, for to them the wind was

contrary,

As all the world might see.

They labored at the oar,

While on their heads they bore