But rather more! if I would reach the goal, Take then the striving!

"And if," for so the Florentine hath writ When having put all his heart Into his "Youth's Dear Book"

He yet strove to do more honour To that lady dwelling in his inmost soul He would wax yet greater To make her earthly glory more.

Though sight of h.e.l.l and heaven were price thereof, If so it be His will, with whom Are all things and through whom Are all things good, Will I make for thee and for the beauty of thy music A new thing As hath not heretofore been writ.

Take then my promise!

Praise of Ysolt

In vain have I striven to teach my heart to bow; In vain have I said to him "There be many singers greater than thou."

But his answer cometh, as winds and as lutany.

As a vague crying upon the night That leaveth me no rest, saying ever, "Song, a song."

Their echoes play upon each other in the twilight Seeking ever a song.

Lo, I am worn with travail And the wandering of many roads hath made my eyes As dark red circles filled with dust.

Yet there is a trembling upon me in the twilight, And little red elf words crying "A song,"

Little grey elf words crying for a song, Little brown leaf words crying "A song,"

Little green leaf words crying for a song.

The words are as leaves, old brown leaves in the spring time Blowing they know not whither, seeking a song.

White words as snow flakes but they are cold Moss words, lip words, words of slow streams.

In vain have I striven to teach my soul to bow, In vain have I pled with him, "There be greater souls than thou."

For in the morn of my years there came a woman As moon light calling As the moon calleth the tides, "Song, a song."

Wherefore I made her a song and she went from me As the moon doth from the sea, But still came the leaf words, little brown elf words Saying "The soul sendeth us."

"A song, a song!"

And in vain I cried unto them "I have no song For she I sang of hath gone from me."

But my soul sent a woman, a woman of the wonder folk, A woman as fire upon the pine woods crying "Song, a song."

As the flame crieth unto the sap.

My song was ablaze with her and she went from me As flame leaveth the embers so went she unto new forests And the words were with me crying ever "Song, a song."

And I "I have no song,"

Till my soul sent a woman as the sun: Yea as the sun calleth to the seed, As the spring upon the bough So is she that cometh the song-drawer She that holdeth the wonder words within her eyes The words little elf words that call ever unto me "Song, a song."

ENVOI

In vain have I striven with my soul to teach my soul to bow.

What soul boweth while in his heart art thou?

Camaraderie

"_E tuttoque to fosse a la compagnia di molti, quanto alla vista_."

Sometimes I feel thy cheek against my face Close-pressing, soft as is the South's first breath That all the subtle earth-things summoneth To spring in wood-land and in meadow s.p.a.ce.

Yea sometimes in a bustling man-filled place Me seemeth some-wise thy hair wandereth Across mine eyes, as mist that halloweth The air awhile and giveth all things grace.

Or on still evenings when the rain falls close There comes a tremor in the drops, and fast My pulses run, knowing thy thought hath pa.s.sed That beareth thee as doth the wind a rose.

Masks

These tales of old disguisings, are they not Strange myths of souls that found themselves among Unwonted folk that spake a hostile tongue, Some soul from all the rest who'd not forgot The star-span acres of a former lot Where boundless mid the clouds his course he swung, Or carnate with his elder brothers sung E'er ballad makers lisped of Camelot?

Old singers half-forgetful of their tunes, Old painters colour-blind come back once more, Old poets skilless in the wind-heart runes, Old wizards lacking in their wonder-lore:

All they that with strange sadness in their eyes Ponder in silence o'er earth's queynt devyse?

Tally-O

What ho! the wind is up and eloquent.

Through all the Winter's halls he crieth Spring.

Now will I get me up unto mine own forests And behold their bourgeoning.

Ballad for Gloom

For G.o.d, our G.o.d, is a gallant foe That playeth behind the veil.

I have loved my G.o.d as a child at heart That seeketh deep bosoms for rest, I have loved my G.o.d as maid to man But lo, this thing is best:

To love your G.o.d as a gallant foe that plays behind the veil, To meet your G.o.d as the night winds meet beyond Arcturus' pale.

I have played with G.o.d for a woman, I have staked with my G.o.d for truth, I have lost to my G.o.d as a man, clear eyed, His dice be not of ruth.

For I am made as a naked blade But hear ye this thing in sooth:

Who loseth to G.o.d as man to man Shall win at the turn of the game.