But though this land desired thou never reach,
Yet folk who know it mayst thou meet or death;
Therefore a word unto thee would I teach

To answer these, who, noting thy weak breath,
Thy wandering eyes, thy heart of little faith,
May make thy fond desire a sport and play,
Mocking the singer of an empty day.

That land's name, say'st thou? and the road thereto ? Nay, Book, thou mockest, saying thou know'st it not; Surely no book of verse I ever knew

But ever was the heart within him hot

To gain the Land of Matters Unforgot:

There, now we both laugh- as the whole world may,
At us poor singers of an empty day.

Nay, let it pass, and hearken! Hast thou heard
That therein I believe I have a friend,

Of whom for love I may not be afeard ?

It is to him indeed I bid thee wend;

Yea, he perchance may meet thee ere thou end,
Dying so far off from the hedge of bay,
Thou idle singer of an empty day!

Well, think of him, I bid thee, on the road,
And if it hap that midst of thy defeat,
Fainting beneath thy follies' heavy load,

My Master, GEOFFREY CHAUCER, thou do meet,
Then shalt thou win a space of rest full sweet;
Then be thou bold, and speak the words I say,
The idle singer of an empty day! .

Fearest thou, Book, what answer thou may'st gain,
Lest he should scorn thee, and thereof thou die?
Nay, it shall not be.-Thou may'st toil in vain,

And never draw the House of Fame anigh;
Yet he and his shall know whereof we cry,-
Shall call it not ill done to strive to lay
The ghosts that crowd about life's empty day

Then let the others go! and if indeed

In some old garden thou and I have wrought,
And made fresh flowers spring up from hoarded seed,
And fragrance of old days and deeds have brought
Back to folk weary,-all was not for naught.

No little part it was for me to play-
The idle singer of an empty day.

L

THE BLUE CLOSET

THE DAMOZELS

ADY ALICE, Lady Louise,

Between the wash of the tumbling seas
We are ready to sing, if so ye please;

So lay your long hands on the keys:

Sing, "Laudate pueri."

And ever the great bell overhead

Boomed in the wind a knell for the dead,-
Though no one tolled it, a knell for the dead.

LADY LOUISE

Sister, let the measure swell

Not too loud; for you sing not well

If you drown the faint boom of the bell:

He is weary, so am I.

And ever the chevron overhead

Flapped on the banner of the dead.
(Was he asleep, or was he dead?)

LADY ALICE

Alice the Queen, and Louise the Queen,
Two damozels wearing purple and green,

Four lone ladies dwelling here

From day to day and year to year;

And there is none to let us go,

To break the locks of the doors below,

Or shovel away the heaped-up snow;

And when we die, no man will know

That we are dead: but they give us leave,

Once every year on Christmas Eve,

To sing in the Closet Blue one song;

And we should be so long, so long,

If we dared, in singing: for dream on dream,

They float on in a happy stream;

Float from the gold strings, float from the keys,

Float from the opened lips of Louise:

But alas! the sea-salt oozes through

The chinks of the tiles of the Closet Blue;

And ever the great bell overhead

Booms in the wind a knell for the dead,-
The wind plays on it a knell for the dead

[They sing all together.]

How long ago was it, how long ago,

He came to this tower with hands full of snow?
"Kneel down, O love Louise, kneel down," he said,
And sprinkled the dusty snow over my head.

He watched the snow melting,- it ran through my hair,
Ran over my shoulders, white shoulders and bare.

"I cannot weep for thee, poor love Louise,
For my tears are all hidden deep under the seas:

"In a gold and blue casket she keeps all my tears,
But my eyes are no longer blue as in old years;

"Yea, they grow gray with time, grow small and dry: I am so feeble now, would I might die."

And in truth the great bell overhead
Left off his pealing for the dead,-
Perchance because the wind was dead.

Will he come back again, or is he dead?
Oh, is he sleeping, my scarf round his head?

Or did they strangle him as he lay there,
With the long scarlet scarf I used to wear?

Only I pray thee, Lord, let him come here!
Both his soul and his body to me are most dear.

Dear Lord, that loves me, I wait to receive
Either body or spirit this wild Christmas Eve.

XVIII-648

Through the floor shot up a lily red,

With a patch of earth from the land of the dead,—
For he was strong in the land of the dead.

What matter that his cheeks were pale,
His kind kissed lips all gray?
"O love Louise, have you waited long?"
་
"O my lord Arthur, yea."

What if his hair that brushed her cheek
Was stiff with frozen rime?

His eyes were grown quite blue again,
As in the happy time.

10354

And the tumbling seas mourned for the dead;
For their song ceased, and they were dead.

Of his fellow's fall and mishap,

to snatch at the work he had.

For that which the worker winneth
shall then be his indeed,
Nor shall half be reaped for nothing
by him that sowed no seed.

Oh, strange new wonderful justice!

But for whom shall we gather the gain? For ourselves and for each of our fellows, and no hand shall labor in vain.

Then all Mine and all Thine shall be Ours, and no more shall any man crave

For riches that serve for nothing

but to fetter a friend for a slave.

And what wealth then shall be left us,
when none shall gather gold
To buy his friend in the market,
and pinch and pine the sold?

Nay, what save the lovely city,

and the little house on the hill,

And the wastes and the woodland beauty, and the happy fields we till;

And the homes of ancient stories,
the tombs of the mighty dead;
And the wise men seeking out marvels,
and the poet's teeming head;

And the painter's hand of wonder,
and the marvelous fiddle-bow,

And the banded choirs of music: all those that do and know.

For all these shall be ours and all men's; nor shall any lack a share

Of the toil and the gain of living,

in the days when the world grows fair.

Ah! such are the days that shall be!
But what are the deeds of to-day,
In the days of the years we dwell in,
that wear our lives away?