Page:A Wine of Wizardry and Other Poems (1909).djvu/34



This is her home! and oh, my homeless heart! Mine eyes fill, for I know that yonder light Assures her loveliness to other eyes The stars go down. I hear the whimpering owl, And little winds go past me in the dark, Softly, afraid to wake the drowsing oaks That guard her home with rough but faithful breasts. Ah me! that mine were sleeping at their roots— Too still to fear, as now, her smallest scorn. The dews descend. The breath of flowers that die Ascends. They mingle in the tender night To some faint, holy symbol of her soul The rose must pass, the starlight of the dew There's little comfort in the stars to-night, Tho' Venus, o'er the mountain, glows like fire Spilt from the censer of the Pleiades