The Equinox (Volume I, Number IX)

ROSA IGNOTA In the gold of a faded summer sun Burnished and dull, in clouds of dun And brilliant amber. Soft! Let be The tender dream! Stay here with me! So, to this dream, this dream, I give Again the pulsing life I live: The faded sunset thrills the sweet Core of my soul ;—ah! nimble feet Grown old! Oh! autumn woodlands fraught With pensiveness of waking thought! The gray night gathers, soft and cold, The old dead dreams, dead dreams of old,— The cold, gray, windy breath of time, The old dead loves, the unsung rime : Autumn, the pale, gray, crispéd star, Virginal, golden nenuphar, Folden upon itself to sleep, To sleep and die, to wake and weep Soft silver tears of old desire. O molten silver of my lyre, Transmute, transmute my autumn dream, Transmute the winding star-lit stream To the stream of olden grace and love; The earth beneath, the sky above ; And round the russet autumn’s chill The brown leaves swirling, swirling still Where London autumn waxes cold, Where night grows younger, fold on fold. The short, gray day fades softly down To dusk; Night bears the radiant crown 141