Gleams from the altar-lamps seven?
Can you tell?

Is it the glare of a fire?
Is it the breaking of day?
Birth lights, or funeral pyre?
Who shall say?

--April 19, 1886.





With the Gods


Sweet lengths of shore with sea between,
Sweet gleams of tender blue and green,
Sweet wind caressive and unseen,
Soft breathing from the deep;

What joy have I in all sweet things;
How clear and bright my spirit sings;
Rising aloft on mystic wings;
While sense and body sleep.

In some such dream of grace and light,
My soul shall pass into the sight
Of the dear Gods who in the height