I saw not the glow

-

Of the grape; for the bloom of her face that the sunlight was finding, And the pomegranate blow

Of her mouth, and the joy of her eyes, and her voice like a dove to me singing, Made my garden agrow.

Was it I? Was it I for whom Death came seeking and calling When he found her so fair?

At the wheel, at the wheel, from dawn till the dew shall be falling,

I will wait for him there.

Death! (I shall cry) I am old, but yon shadow of plums that are purpling Was the hue of her hair.

Death! (I shall cry) in the sound of the mill ever turning

Till dark brings release,

Till the sun on the vineyards below me to crimson is burning,

There is measure of peace;

For all day and all day with the wheelare her eyes to mine turning:

But, Death! (I shall call) take me hence ere the daylight its shadow is spurning!

Hence, ere the night-time can wrap me around with my tears and my yearning,

When the grinding shall cease!

AN OLD STREET

THE Past walks here, noiseless, unasked,

alone;

Knockers are silent, and beside each stone Grass peers, unharmed by lagging steps and slow

That with the dark and dawn pass to and fro. The Past walks here, unseen forevermore, Save by some heart who, in her half-closed

door,

Looks forth and hears the great pulse beat afar,

The hum and thrill and all the sounds that

are,

And listening remembers, half in fear,
As a forgotten tune reëchoes near,
Or from some lilac bush a breath blows
sweet

Through the unanswering dusk, the voiceless street,

Looks forth and sighs, with candle held above, "It is too late for laughter, — or for love."

CARE

ALL in the leafy darkness, when sleep had passed me by,

I knew the surging of the sea Though never wave were nigh. All in the leafy darkness, unbroken by a star, There came the clamorous call of day, While yet the day was far.

All in the leafy darkness, woven with bushes deep,

I heard the vulture wings of Fear
Above me tireless sweep;

The sea of Doubt, the dread of day, upon me surged and swept

All in the leafy darkness,

And while the whole world slept.

It blasted the buds on the almond bough, And shrivelled the fruit on the orangetree;

The wizened dervish breathed no vow,
So weary and parched was he.
The lean muezzin could not cry;
The dogs ran mad, and bayed the sky;
The hot sun shone like a copper disk,
And prone in the shade of an obelisk
The water-carrier sank with a sigh,
For limp and dry was his water-skin;
And the wind from the desert blew in.

The camel crouched by the crumbling wall,
Aud oh the pitiful moan it made!

The minarets, taper and slim and tall,
Reeled and swam in the brazen light;
And prayers went up by day and night,
But thin and drawn were the lips that
prayed.

The river writhed in its slimy bed,
Shrunk to a tortuous, turbid thread;
The burnt earth cracked like a cloven rind;
And still the wind, the ruthless wind,
Khamsin,

The wind from the desert blew in.

Into the cool of the mosque it crept, Where the poor sought rest at the Prophet's shrine;

Its breath was fire to the jasmine vine;
It fevered the brow of the maid who slept,
And men grew haggard with revel of wine.
The tiny fledgelings died in the nest;

The sick babe gasped at the mother's breast.

Then a rumor rose and swelled and spread
From a tremulous whisper, faint and vague,
Till it burst in a terrible cry of dread,
The plague! the plague! the plague !-
Oh the wind, Khamsin,
The scourge from the desert, blew in !

WHEN dreaming kings, at odds with swiftpaced time,

Would strike that banner down, A nobler knight than ever writ or rhyme With fame's bright wreath did crown Through armed hosts bore it till it floated high

Beyond the clouds, a light that cannot die!

Ah, hero of our younger race!

Great builder of a temple new! Ruler, who sought no lordly place! Warrior, who sheathed the sword he drew!

Lover of men, who saw afar

A world unmarred by want or war,
Who knew the path, and yet forbore
To tread, till all men should implore;
Who saw the light, and led the way
Where the gray world might greet the
day;

Father and leader, prophet sure, Whose will in vast works shall endure, How shall we praise him on this day of days,

Great son of fame who has no need of praise?

Through the dim deeps of space.
He sees in dew upon a rose impearled
The swarming legions of a monad world
Begin life's upward race.

Voices of hope he hears
Long dumb to his despair,

And dreams of golden years
Meet for a world so fair.

For now Democracy doth wake and rise
From the sweet sloth of youth.
By storms made strong, by many dreams
made wise,

He clasps the hand of Truth. Through the armed nations lies his path of peace,

The open book of knowledge in his hand. Food to the starving, to the oppressed release,

And love to all he bears from land to land.
Before his march the barriers fall,
The laws grow gentle at his call.
His glowing breath blows far away
The fogs that veil the coming day, -
That wondrous day

When earth shall sing ns through the blue she rolls

Laden with joy for all her thronging souls. Then shall want's call to sin resound no more

Across her teeming fields. And pain

shall sleep,

Soothed by bravo science with her magic. lore;

And war no more shall bid the nations