Yet deep behind what never they forget,
Who ever see in life's chance or mischance.
And he who saw, what could he do but say,
"Fold up the tents; the camp is struck; away!
Vain victor who rides not in rest his lance!"
Beside the hearthstone where the flame-flakes fell,
There lay the cold keys of the citadel.
THE CITADEL
A night wind-swept and bound about with glee
Of Erebus; all light and cheer within;
White restless hands that falter, then begin
To weave a music-voiced fantasy.
And life, and death, and love, and weariness,
And unrequital, thrid the maze of sound;
And one voice saith, "Behold, the lost is found!"
And saith not any more for joyfulness.
Out of the night there comes a wanderer,
Who waits upon the threshold, and is still;
And listens, and bows down his head, until
His grief-drawn breath startles the heart of her.
The victor vanquished, at her feet he fell,
A prisoner in his conquered citadel.
MALFEASANCE
Two of one name; they standing where the sun
Makes shadows in the orchard-bloom of spring;
She holding in her palm a jewelled ring,
He speaking on what evil it had done.
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