There　is　mingled　wit　and　folly；
  But　the　madcap　lacks　the　grace
  Of　a　thoughtful　melancholy。
  Spendthrift　of　the　seasons'　gold；
  How　he　flings　and　scatters　out
  Treasure　filched　from　summer…time！
  Never　ruffling　squire　of　old
  Better　loved　a　tavern　bout
  When　Prince　Hal　was　in　his　prime。
  Doublet　slashed　with　gold　and　green；
  Cloak　of　crimson；　changeful　sheen；
  Of　the　dews　that　gem　his　breast；
  Frosty　lace　about　his　throat；
  Scarlet　plumes　that　flaunt　and　float
  Backward　in　a　gay　unrest
  Where's　another　gallant　drest
  With　such　tricksy　gaiety；
  Such　unlessoned　vanity？
  With　his　amber　afternoons
  And　his　pendant　poets'　moons
  With　his　twilights　dashed　with　rose
  From　the　red…lipped　afterglows
  With　his　vocal　airs　at　dawn
  Breathing　hints　of　Helicon
  Bacchanalian　bees　that　sip
  Where　his　cider…presses　drip
  With　the　winding　of　the　horn
  Where　his　huntsmen　meet　the　morn
  With　his　every　piping　breeze
  Shaking　from　familiar　trees
  Apples　of　Hesperides
  With　the　chuckle；　chirp；　and　trill
  Of　his　jolly　brooks　that　spill
  Mirth　in　tangled　madrigals
  Down　pebble…dappled　waterfalls
  （Brooks　that　laugh　and　make　escape
  Through　wild　arbors　where　the　grape
  Purples　with　a　promise　of
  Racy　vintage　rare　as　love）
  With　his　merry；　wanton　air；
  Mirth　and　vanity　and　folly
  Why　should　he　be　made　to　bear
  Burden　of　some　melancholy
  Song　that　swoons　and　sinks　with　care？
  Cease　to　call　him　sad　or　sober；
  He's　a　jolly　dog；　October！
  CHANT　OF　THE　CHANGING　HOURS
  THE　Hours　passed　by；　a　fleet；　confused　crowd；
  With　wafture　of　blown　garments　bright　as　fire；
  Light；　light　of　foot　and　laughing；　morning…browed；
  And　where　they　trod　the　jonquil　and　the　briar
  Thrilled　into　jocund　life；　the　dreaming　dells
  Waked　to　a　morrice　chime　of　jostled　bells；
  They　danced！　they　danced！　to　piping　such　as
  flings
  The　garnered　music　of　a　million　Springs
  Into　one　single；　keener　ecstasy；
  One　paused　and　shouted　to　my　questionings：
  〃Lo；　I　am　Youth；　I　bid　thee　follow　me！〃
  The　Hours　passed　by；　they　paced；　great　lords　and
  proud；
  Crowned　on　with　sunlight；　robed　in　rich　attire；
  Before　their　conquering　word　the　brute　deed
  bowed；
  And　Ariel　fancies　served　their　large　desire；
  They　spake；　and　roused　the　mused　soul　that　dwells
  In　dust；　or；　smiling；　shaped　new　heavens　and
  hells；
  Dethroned　old　gods　and　made　blind　beggars　kings：
  〃And　what　art　thou；〃　I　cried　to　one；　〃that　brings
  His　mistress；　for　a　brooch；　the　Galaxy？〃
  〃I　am　the　plumed　Thought　that　soars　and　sings：
  Lo；　I　am　Song；　I　bid　thee　follow　me！〃
  The　Hours　passed　by；　with　veiled　eyes　endowed
  Of　dream；　and　parted　lips　that　scarce　suspire；
  To　breathing　dusk　and　arrowy　moonlight　vowed；
  South　wind　and　shadowy　grove　and　murmuring
  lyre；
  Swaying　they　moved；　as　drows'd　of　wizard　spells
  Or　tranc'd　with　sight　of　recent　miracles；
  And　yet　they　trembled；　down　their　folded　wings
  Quivered　the　hint　of　sweet　withholden　things；
  Ah；　bitter…sweet　in　their　intensity！
  One　paused　and　said　unto　my　wonderings：
  〃Lo；　I　am　Love；　I　bid　thee　follow　me！〃
  The　Hours　passed　by；　through　huddled　cities　loud
  With　witless　hate　and　stale　with　stinking　mire：
  So　cowled　monks　might　march　with　bier　and　shroud
  Down　streets　plague…spotted　toward　some　cleans…
  ing　pyre；
  Yet；　lo！　strange　lilies　bloomed　in　lightless　cells；
  And　passionate　spirits　burst　their　clayey　shells
  And　sang　the　stricken　hope　that　bleeds　and
  clings：
  Earth's　bruised　heart　beat　in　the　throbbing　strings；
  And　joy　still　struggled　through　the　threnody！
  One　stern　Hour　said　unto　my　marvelings：
  〃Lo；　I　am　Life；　I　bid　thee　follow　me！〃
  The　Hours　passed　by；　the　stumbling　hours　and
  cowed；
  Uncertain；　prone　to　tears　and　childish　ire；
  The　wavering　hours　that　drift　like　any　cloud
  At　whim　of　winds　or　fortunate　or　dire；
  The　feeble　shapes　that　any　chance　expells；
  Their　wisdom　useless；　lacking　the　blood　that　swells
  The　tensed　vein：　the　hot；　swift　tide　that　stings
  With　life。　　Ah；　wise！　but　naked　to　the　slings
  Of　fate；　and　plagued　of　youthful　memory！
  A　cracked　voice　broke　upon　my　pityings：
  〃Lo；　I　am　Age；　I　bid　thee　follow　me！〃
  Ah；　Youth！　we　dallied　by　the　babbling　wells
  Where　April　all　her　lyric　secret　tells；
  Ah；　Song！　we　sped　our　bold　imaginings
  As　far　as　yon　red　planet's　triple　rings；
  O　Life！　　O　Love！　　I　followed；　followed　thee！
  There　waits　one　word　to　end　my　journeyings：
  〃Lo；　I　am　Death；　I　bid　thee　follow　me！〃
  DREAMS　AND　DUST
  SELVES
  My　dust　in　ruined　Babylon
  Is　blown　along　the　level　plain；
  And　songs　of　mine　at　dawn　have　soared
  Above　the　blue　Sicilian　main。
  We　are　ourselves；　and　not　ourselves　。　。　。
  For　ever　thwarting　pride　and　will
  Some　forebear's　passion　leaps　from　death
  To　claim　a　vital　license　still。
  Ancestral　lusts　that　slew　and　died；
  Resurgent；　swell　each　living　vein；
  Old　doubts　and　faiths；　new　panoplied；
  Dispute　the　mastery　of　the　brain。
  The　love　of　liberty　that　flames
  From　written　rune　and　stricken　reed
  Shook　the　hot　hearts　of　swordsmen　sires
  At　Marathon　and　Runnymede。
  What　are　these　things　we　call　our　〃selves〃？　。　。　。
  Have　I　not　shouted；　sobbed；　and　died
  In　the　bright　surf　of　spears　that　broke
  Where　Greece　rolled　back　the　Persian　tide？
  Are　we　who　breathe　more　quick　than　they
  Whose　bones　are　dust　within　the　tomb？
  Nay；　as　I　write；　what　gray　old　ghosts
  Murmur　and　mock　me　from　the　gloom。　。　。　。
  They　call　。　。　。　across　strange　seas　they　call；
  Strange　seas；　and　haunted　coasts　of　time。　。　。　。
  They　startle　me　with　wordless　songs
  To　which　the　Sphinx　hath　known　the　rhyme。
  Our　hearts　swell　big　with　dead　men's　hates；
  Our　eyes　sting　hot　with　dead　men's　tears；
  We　are　ourselves；　but　not　ourselves；
  Born　heirs；　but　serfs；　to　all　the　years！
  I　rode　with　Nimrod　。　。　。　strove　at　Troy　。　。　。
  A　slave　I　stood　in　Crowning　Tyre；
  A　queen　looked　on　me　and　I　loved
  And　died　to　compass　my　desire。
  THE　WAGES
  EARTH　loves　to　gibber　o'er　her　dross；
  Her　golden　souls；　to　waste；
  The　cup　she　fills　for　her　god…men
  Is　a　bitter　cup　to　taste。
  Who　sees　the　gyves　that　bind　mankind
  And　strives　to　strike　them　off
  Shall　gain　the　hissing　hate　of　fools；
  Thorns；　and　the　ingrate's　scoff。
  Who　storms　the　moss…grown　walls　of　eld
  And　beats　some　falsehood　down
  Shall　pass　the　pallid　gates　of　death
  Sans　laurel；　love　or　crown；
  For　him　who　fain　would　teach　the　world
  The　world　holds　hate　in　fee
  For　Socrates；　the　hemlock　cup；
  For　Christ；　Gethsemane。
  IN　MARS；　WHAT　AVATAR？
  〃In　Vishnu…land；　what　avatar？〃
  BROWNING。
  PERCHANCE　the　dying　gods　of　Earth
  Are　destined　to　another　birth；
  And　worn…out　creeds　regain　their　worth
  In　the　kindly　air　of　other　stars
  What　lords　of　life　and　light　hold　sway
  In　the　myriad　worlds　of　the　Milky　Way？
  What　avatars　in　Mars？
  What　Aphrodites　from　the　seas
  That　lap　the　plunging　Pleiades
  Arise　to　spread　afar
  The　dream　that　was　the　soul　of　Greece？
  In　Mars；　what　avatar？
  Which　hundred　moons　are　wan　with　love
  For　dull　Endymions？
  Which　hundred　moons　hang　tranced　above
  Audacious　Ajalons？
  What　Holy　Grail　lures　errants　pale
  Through　the　wastes　of　yonder　star？
  What　fables　sway　the　Milky　Way？
  In　Mars；　what　avatar？
  When　morning　skims　with　crimson　wings
  Across　the　meres　of　Mercury；
  What　dreaming　Memnon　wakes　and　sings
  Of　miracles　on　Mercury？
  What　Christs；　what　avatars；
  Claim　Mars？
  THE　GOD…MAKER；　MAN
  NEVERMORE
  Shall　the　shepherds　of　Arcady　follow
  Pan's　moods　as　he　lolls　by　the　shore
  Of　the　mere；　or　lies　hid　in　the　hollow；
  Nevermore
  Shall　they　start　at　the　sound　of　his　reed…fashioned
  flute；
  Fallen　mute
  Are　the　strings　of　Apollo；
  His　lyre　and　his　lute；
  And　the　lips　of　the　Memnons　are　mute
  Evermore；
  And　the　gods　of　the　North；are　they　dead　or
  forgetful；
  Our　Odin　and　Baldur　and　Thor？
  Are　they　drunk；　or　grown　weary　of　worship　and
  fretful；
  Our　Odin　and　Baldur　and　Thor？
  And　into　what　night　have　the　Orient　dieties
  strayed？
  Swart　gods　of　the　Nile；　in　dusk　splendors　arrayed；
  Brooding　Isis　and　somber　Osiris；
  You　were　gone　ere　the　fragile　papyrus；
  （That　bragged　you　eternal！）　decayed。
  The　avatars
  But　illumine　their　limited　evens
  And　vanish　like　plunging　stars；
  They　are　fixed　in　the　whirling　heavens
  No　firmer　than　falling　stars；
  Brief　lords　of　the　changing　soul；　they　pass
  Like　a　breath　from　the　face　of　a　glass；
  Or　a　blossom　of　summer　blown　shallop…like　over
  The　clover
  And　tossed　tides　of　grass。
  Sink　to　silence　the　psalms　and　the　paeans
  The　shibboleths　shift；　and　the　faiths；
  And　the　temples　that　challenge