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954                                                Rioupéroux

HIGH and solemn mountains guard Rioupéroux
—Small untidy village where the river drives a mill—
Frail as wood anemones, white and frail were you,
And drooping a little, like the slender daffodil.

O I will go to France again, and tramp the valley through,
And I will change these gentle clothes for clog and corduroy,
And work with the mill-hands of black Rioupéroux,
And walk with you, and talk with you, like any other boy.

955                                          Hassan’s Serenade

HOW splendid in the morning glows
  the lily; with what grace he throws
His supplication to the rose:
    do roses nod the head, Yasmin?
But when the silver dove descends
    I find the little flower of friends
Whose very name that sweetly ends
    I say when I have said ‘Yasmin’.
The morning light is clear and cold,
    I dare not in that light behold
A deeper light, a deeper gold
    a glory too far shed, Yasmin.
But when the deep red eye of day
    is level with the lone highway,
And some to Mecca turn to pray,
    and I toward thy bed, Yasmin,

Or when the wind beneath the moon
    is drifting like a soul aswoon,
And harping planets talk love’s tune
    with milky wings outspread, Yasmin,
Shower down thy love, O burning bright!
    for one night or the other night
Will come the Gardener in white,
    and gathered flowers are dead, Yasmin!


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