358 POEMS 
TO THE MEMORY OF H. H. 
O sout of fire within a woman’s clay ! 
Lifting with slender hands a race’s wrong, 
Whose mute appeal hushed all thine early 
song, 
And taught thy passionate heart the loftier 
way, — 
What shall thy place be in the realm of day? 
What disembodied world can hold thee long, 
Binding thy turbulent pulse with spell more 
strong? 
Dwell’st thou, with wit and jest, where poets 
may, 
Or with ethereal women — born of air 
And poet’s dreams — dost live in ecstasy, 
Teach new lovethoughts to Shakespeare’s 
Juliet fair, 
New moods to Cleopatra? Then, set free, 
The woes of Shelley’s Helen thou dost share, 
Or weep with poor Rossetti’s Rose Mary. 
VENUS MULTIFORMIS 
THREE men on a broken deck-plank, 
With the reef and its roar ahead, 
Floated on, through a fair June morning, 
To a doom that was sure and dread. 
