Till for a space one goes
Beyond the salt and snows

And searching tides along the wide-stretched beach,
Beyond the last, faint reach

Of odor, sight and sound, far forth-far forth-
Where neither South nor North
Points down the roads unguessed,
Where East is not, nor West:
At night down roads of sleep,
Of dreamless sleep,

Past all the compassed ways the reason tells,

To unknown citadels.

Just as one turns, and while day's dusk-breathed blue
And music, many-dappled, merge in flight,

Half in a dream, one finds a tale is true

That down one's memory sings, still and light.

Just as the spirit turns,

Half-dreaming one discerns.

Deeply the tale is true

That long ago one knew:

Of how a mermaid loved a mortal knight;

And how, unless she died, she still must change,
And leave his human ways, and go alone

At intervals, where seas unfathomed range

Through coral groves around the ocean's throne,

Where cool-armed mermaids dive through crystal hours, And braid their streaming hair with pearls, and sing

Sleep

Among the green and clear-lit water flowers,
The sea-changed splendors of their ocean king.

Like hers our ways on earth,
Who, from our day of birth,

Would die, unless we slept

Must die, unless for hours,
Beyond our senses' powers,
Down soundless space we leapt.

Beyond the deepest roll

Of pain's and rapture's sweep,
Where goes the human soul

That vanishes in sleep?

Down dreamless paths unguessed, beyond the senses' powers,

Beyond the breath of fragrance, sound and light—

As once through crystal unremembered hours

The mermaid dived who loved a mortal knight:
Far forth-far forth-

Beyond the South or North,

Past all the compassed ways the day has shown,

To live divine and deep at night down roads of sleep,
In citadels unknown.

Wyatt,

CITY WHISTLES; poem

To H. M.

Now the morning winds are rising. Now the morning

whistles cry.

Fast their crescent voices dim the paling star.

Through the misted city mainland, wide their questing summons fly

Many-toned-"O mortal, tell me who you are!"

Down the midland, down the morning, fresh their sweeping voices buoy :

"Siren ship! Silver ship! Sister ship! Ahoy! Sister ship, ahoy! Ship ahoy!"

"What's the stuff of life you're made from? What the cargo you must trade from?"

From afar their onward voices break the blue,

Crying, "Bring your gold or barley! Come to barter! Come to parley!

Ring the bell, and swing the bridge, and let me through."
Like some freighted ship that goes, where the city river flows,
Like a trading ship that questions, "Who are you?"

In among the river craft, as she rides by stack and shaft.
Through Chicago from Sheboygan and the Soo.

"What's the stuff of life you're made from? What the

cargo you convoy?

Ring the bell! Swing the bridge! Sister ship, ahoy!"