THE COMING OF APOLLO RED roses, O red Roses, Roses afire, aflame, O burgeon that discloses The glory of desire ___ Hush! all the heart of fire Is mingled in Thy name, O roses, roses, roses, Red roses of desire. The golden-shafted sunlight Beats down upon the sward; The pillared serpent's one light Is a flame of red desire; O snake from out the mire, I slay thee with the sword, The strong sword of the sunlight, The sword of my desire! The still strong bird of sorrow Keens through the golden blue, And many a bitter morrow Is borne upon his wings; {281} The glory that he brings He brings, O King, to you, The wonder-song of sorrow In the flapping of his wings. The flaming day grows olden As the youth of glory wanes; And the sun-bird grows more golden And narrower his wings; He swirls around in rings; He bears the bloody stains Of all the sorrows olden Upon his bright gold wings. And scarlet-rimmed and splendid, The wide blue vault is spanned With golden rays wide-bended From the green earth to the skies; The hush of noontide dies, Song rises from the land ___ And scarlet, naked, splendid, Glow out the radiant skies. A cloud of huge hushed laughter Shakes all the listening boughs, And a sudden hush comes after, Dropped from the silent skies; A myriad laughing eyes Flash in a still carouse, And shake with silent laughter The blue vault of the skies. {282} A breeze ___ a leaf ___ a shadow ___ The falling of a bud ___ The wind across the meadow ___ A flash of light ___ a call ___ A patter on the wall ___ The air is bright as blood; A moment stands a shadow, A moment sounds a call. Awake! the spell is broken, And hushed the sense of noon; What silent word was spoken In answer to the Call? ... Hush! See the rose-leaves fall; Ah! see the pathway strewn With tender rose-leaves, broken In answer to the Call. How still it lies, the garden, Now the red flash is gone; The brown soil seems to harden Now the strange spell is fled; And the earth lies cold and dead, And the hot hours hurry on. It is only a quiet garden Now that the spell is fled. But the hour, the hour and the token, Have passed as a dream away, Now that the spell is broken, And the moment's flash is fled. {283} When the secret word was said, Ah! what remained to say? No word, but silence' token That the golden God had fled. And the roses, roses, roses Flame in their red desire, And every bud uncloses To mark the sign that fled; The wonder-word hath sped To the far Olympian fire: The spell of the crimson roses Has passed from earth and fled. But still the old silent garden Remember the golden flush When the heavens seemed to harden For a moment that came and fled; When the whole green earth grew red In a breathless spell and a hush, And the world grew young in the garden, And trembled, and passed, and fled. VICTOR B. NEUBURG