The Equinox (Volume I, Number IX)

142 THE EQUINOX Of twilight’s dim remembered dreams Seen through a tremulous veil : who deems The past is dead—let London lights Mingle with London’s autumn nights! . . . The dull-red gleams of burnished fire, The wind-harp songs of old desire, Lost, pallid, steal through Autumn’s veils, The unsung songs, forgotten tales. . . . Autumn in London, young and bare, Autumn in London, gray and fair. . . . Through hazes of the times of eld Through mazes of the world compelled By the magic of the memory Of the love born by a sunlit sea— Through the gray dusk a faint pink glows, The aureole of a flower that blows In the garden of the gods: too long I linger lost in sense of song; Too long I stay, too late, too late I wander by the hidden gate Of the garden, and the night-wind blows Around me still, ah, Rose, my Rose! From thee the wind-borne breezes float: From thee! the secret word, the note On the lips of a dying god, pierced through By the spear of Dawn. Is Dawn still new, Now thou art faded in the gloom ? Now thou art lost in death and doom? I know not yet; nor shall I know Till thou art faded quite, and snow