But if I dream that all these are,
They are to me for that I dream;
For all things are as they seem to all,
And all things flow like a stream.

LVII

THE HESPERIDES

Hesperus and his daughters three,

That sing about the golden tree.

-COMUS.

THE Northwind fall'n, in the new-starrèd night
Zidonian Hanno, voyaging beyond

The hoary promontory of Soloë

Past Thymiaterion, in calmèd bays,

Between the southern and the western Horn,
Heard neither warbling of the nightingale,

Nor melody o' the Lybian lotusflute

Blown seaward from the shore; but from a slope
That ran bloombright into the Atlantic blue,
Beneath a highland leaning down a weight
Of cliffs, and zoned below with cedarshade,
Came voices, like the voices in a dream,
Continuous, till he reached the outer sea.

SONG
I

THE golden apple, the golden apple, the hallowed fruit, Guard it well, guard it warily,

Singing airily,

Standing about the charmed root.

Round about all is mute,

As the snowfield on the mountain-peaks,

As the sandfield at the mountain-foot.
Crocodiles in briny creeks

Sleep and stir not: all is mute.

If ye sing not, if ye make false measure,
We shall lose eternal pleasure,

Worth eternal want of rest.

Laugh not loudly: watch the treasure

Of the wisdom of the west.

In a corner wisdom whispers. Five and three

(Let it not be preached abroad) make an awful mystery. For the blossom unto threefold music bloweth ;

Evermore it is born anew;

And the sap to threefold music floweth,

From the root

Drawn in the dark,

Up to the fruit,

Creeping under the fragrant bark,

Liquid gold, honeysweet, thro' and thro'.
Keen-eyed Sisters, singing airily,

Looking warily

Every way,

Guard the apple night and day,

Lest one from the East come and take it away.

II

Father Hesper, Father Hesper, watch, watch, ever and aye, Looking under silver hair with a silver eye.

Father, twinkle not thy stedfast sight;

Kingdoms lapse, and climates change, and races die;

Honour comes with mystery;

Hoarded wisdom brings delight.

Number, tell them over and number

How many the mystic fruit-tree holds,

Lest the redcombed dragon slumber

Rolled together in purple folds.

Look to him, father, lest he wink, and the golden apple be

stol'n away,

For his ancient heart is drunk with overwatchings night and day,

Round about the hallowed fruit-tree curled

Sing away, sing aloud evermore in the wind, without stop, Lest his scalèd eyelid drop,

For he is older than the world.

If he waken, we waken,

Rapidly levelling eager eyes

If he sleep, we sleep,

Dropping the eyelid over the eyes.

If the golden apple be taken

The world will be overwise.

Five links, a golden chain, are we,

Hesper, the dragon, and sisters three,

Bound about the golden tree.

III

Father Hesper, Father Hesper, watch, watch, night and day,

Lest the old wound of the world be healed,

The glory unsealed,

The golden apple stol'n away,

And the ancient secret revealed.

Look from west to east along:

Father, old Himala weakens, Caucasus is bold and strong. Wandering waters unto wandering waters call;

Let them clash together, foam and fall.

Out of watchings, out of wiles,

Comes the bliss of secret smiles.
All things are not told to all.

Half-round the mantling night is drawn,
Purplefringed with even and dawn.

Hesper hateth Phosphor, evening hateth morn.

IV

Every flower and every fruit the redolent breath
Of this warm seawind ripeneth,
Arching the billow in his sleep;
But the landwind wandereth,
Broken by the highland-steep,

Two streams upon the violet deep :

For the western sun and the western star,

And the low west wind, breathing afar,

The end of day and beginning of night

Make the apple holy and bright;

Holy and bright, round and full, bright and blest,
Mellowed in a land of rest;

Watch it warily day and night;

All good things are in the west.

Till midnoon the cool east light

Is shut out by the round of the tall hillbrow;
But when the fullfaced sunset yellowly
Stays on the flowering arch of the bough,
The luscious fruitage clustereth mellowly,
Goldenkernelled, goldencored,
Sunset-ripened above on the tree.

The world is wasted with fire and sword,
But the apple of gold hangs over the sea,
Five links, a golden chain, are we,
Hesper, the dragon, and sisters three,
Daughters three,

Bound about

All round about

The gnarlèd bole of the charmed tree.

The golden apple, the golden apple, the hallowed fruit,
Guard it well, guard it warily,

Watch it warily,

Singing airily,

Standing about the charmèd root.

LVIII

ROSALIND

I

My Rosalind, my Rosalind,

My frolic falcon, with bright eyes,

Whose free delight, from any height of rapid flight, Stoops at all game that wing the skies,

My Rosalind, my Rosalind,

My bright-eyed, wild-eyed falcon, whither,
Careless both of wind and weather,
Whither fly ye, what game spy ye,
Up or down the streaming wind?

II

The quick lark's closest-carolled strains,
The shadow rushing up the sea,
The lightning-flash atween the rains,
The sunlight driving down the lea,
The leaping stream, the very wind,
That will not stay, upon his way,
To stoop the cowslip to the plains,
Is not so clear and bold and free
As you, my falcon Rosalind.
You care not for another's pains,
Because you are the soul of joy,
Bright metal all without alloy.

Life shoots and glances thro' your veins,
And flashes off a thousand ways,
Through lips and eyes in subtle rays.
Your hawk-eyes are keen and bright,
Keen with triumph, watching still

To pierce me through with pointed light;
And oftentimes they flash and glitter
Like sunshine on a dancing rill,

And your words are seeming-bitter,

Sharp and few, but seeming-bitter
From excess of swift delight.

III

Come down, come home, my Rosalind,
My gay young hawk, my Rosalind :
Too long you keep the upper skies;
Too long you roam and wheel at will;
But we must hood your random eyes,
That care not whom they kill,

And your cheek, whose brilliant hue
Is so sparkling-fresh to view,
Some red heathflower in the dew,
Touched with sunrise. We must bind
And keep you fast, my Rosalind,

Fast, fast, my wild-eyed Rosalind,

And clip your wings, and make you love :

When we have lured you from above,

And that delight of frolic flight, by day or night,

From North to South;

We'll bind you fast in silken cords,

And kiss away the bitter words

From off your rosy mouth.

LIX

KATE

I KNOW her by her angry air,

Her bright-black eyes, her bright-black hair,
Her rapid laughters wild and shrill,

As laughters of the woodpecker
From the bosom of a hill.

'Tis Kate—she sayeth what she will: For Kate hath an unbridled tongue, Clear as the twanging of a harp.

Her heart is like a throbbing star.
Kate hath a spirit ever strung

Like a new bow, and bright and sharp
As edges of the scymetar.

Whence shall she take a fitting mate?
For Kate no common love will feel;
My woman-soldier, gallant Kate,

As pure and true as blades of steel.

Kate saith" the world is void of might."
Kate saith "the men are gilded flies."
Kate snaps her fingers at my vows;
Kate will not hear of lover's sighs.
I would I were an armèd knight,
Far famed for well-won enterprise,
And wearing on my swarthy brows
The garland of new-wreathed emprise ;
For in a moment I would pierce

The blackest files of clanging fight,
And strongly strike to left and right,

In dreaming of my lady's eyes.

Oh! Kate loves well the bold and fierce ; But none are bold enough for Kate,

She cannot find a fitting mate.