Xvii

That love within our eyes may be Uttered with all clarity; Oh, let us cleanse our looks from those That chose The way of life's brutality.

The dawn has flowered in red and gold, Strange softened light And mist; It seems as though some tender down of gold And silver through the twilight kissed, With dim caresses, all our garden-ways; Our mysterious lake displays Its trembling sheen of golden light; Beneath the trees swoon birds in emerald flight; And dawn, from off the gloomy plain, the hillside steep, Doth sweep The last grey ashes of unwilling night.