The King's Ballad 1123 THE FOUR WINDS WIND of the North, Wind of the Norland snows, Wind of the winnowed skies and sharp, clear stars- And crisp the lowland pools with crystal films, Wind of the West, Wind of the few, far clouds, Wind of the gold and crimson sunset lands→→ Wind of the East, Wind of the sunrise seas, Wind of the clinging mists and gray, harsh rains- But thou, sweet wind! Wind of the fragrant South, Wind from the bowers of jasmine and of rose!— And flowering forests come with dewy wings, And stir the petals at her feet, and kiss The low mound where she lies. Charles Henry Lüders [1858–1891] THE KING'S BALLAD Good my King, in your garden close, (Hark to the thrush's trilling) Why so sad when the maiden rose Love at your feet is spilling? Golden the air and honey-sweet, Sapphire the sky, it is not meet Sorrowful faces should flowers greet, (Hark to the thrush's trilling). All alone walks the King to-day. Roses and tulips and lilies fair Ladies wait in the palace, Sire, (Hark to the thrush's trilling) Red and white for the king's desire, Breasts of moonshine and hair of night, (Hark to the thrush's trilling). Kneels the King in a grassy place, (Hark to the thrush's trilling) Little flowers under his face With his warm tears are filling. Says the King, "Here my heart lies dead Where my fair love is buried, Would I were lying here instead!" (Hark to the thrush's trilling).. Joyce Kilmer (1886 HELIOTROPE AMID the chapel's chequered gloom She laughed with Dora and with Flora, And chattered in the lecture-room,— That saucy little sophomora! Heliotrope Yet while, as in her other schools, But when he spoke of varied lore, Of that particular professor. And he had learned, among his books Her sunny smile, her winsome ways, She whispered to her heart's confessor. Yet once when Christmas bells were rung Pealed through the dim cathedral arches,— And a sweet spray of heliotrope Left on his littered study-table. 1125 Nor came she more from day to day The ever-silent snows were drifting; And those who mourned her winsome face And loved another in her place All, save the silent old professor. But, in the tender twilight gray, Of the dead spray of heliotrope That once she gave the old professor. "LYDIA IS GONE THIS MANY A YEAR" LYDIA is gone this many a year, Yet when the lilacs stir, In the old gardens far or near, They climb the twisted chamber stair; On the carved shelf beneath it there, A ghost so long has Lydia been, Seems not her cloak at all. The book, the box on mantle laid, Are those of some dim little maid, A thousand years ago. Memories And yet the house is full of her; She goes and comes again; And longings thrill, and memories stir, Out in their yards the neighbors walk, Of Anne, of Phyllis do they talk, Of Lydia not at all. Lizette Woodworth Reese [1856 AFTER Он, the littles that remain! Scent of mint out in the lane; Flare of window, sound of bees;- Three times sitting down to bread; But just now out in the lane, Oh, the scent of mint was plain! Lizette Woodworth Reese [1856 MEMORIES Of my ould loves, of their ould ways, 1127 (I've kissed-'gainst rason an' 'gainst rhymeMore mouths than one in my mad time!) Of their soft ways an' words I dream, Wid betther lives, wid betther men, |