Death

    He lives but half who never stood
    By the grave of one held dear,
And out of the deep, dark loneliness
Of a heart bereaved and comfortless,
    From sorrow's crystal plentitude,
    Feeling his loss severe,
    Dropped a regretful tear.

    Oh, life's divinest draught doth not
    In the wells of joy abound!
For the purest streams are those that flow
Out of the depths of crushing woe,
    As from the springs of love and thought
    Hid in some narrow mound,
    Making it holy ground.

    He hath been blessed who sometimes knelt
    Owning that God is just,
And in the stillness of cypress shade
Rosemary's tender symbol laid
    Upon a cherished shrine, and felt
    Strengthened in faith and trust
    Over the precious dust...

Overcome -- O bitter sweetness,
Inhabitant of the soft cheek of a girl --
The rich man and his affairs,
The fat flocks and the fields' fatness,
Mariners, rough harvesters;
Overcome Gods upon Parnassus;

Overcome the Empyrean; hurl
Heaven and Earth out of their places,
That in the Same calamity
Brother and brother, friend and friend,
Family and family,
City and city may contend,
By that great glory driven wild.

Pray I will and sing I must,
And yet I weep -- Oedipus' child
Descends into the loveless dust.

    The stars are failing, and the sky
        Is like a field of faded flowers;
    The winds on weary wings go by;
        The moon hides, and the temptest lowers;
            And still through every clime and age
            I wander on a pilgrimage
            That all men know an idle quest,
            For that the goal I seek is - REST!

    I hear the voice of summer streams,
        And, following, I find the brink
    Of cooling springs, with childish dreams
        Returning as I bend to drink -
            But suddenly, with startled eyes,
            My face looks on its grim disguise
            Of long gray beard; and so, distressed,
            I hasten on, nor taste of rest.

    I come upon a merry group
        Of children in ...

Great joy in Madra. Blow the shell
The marriage over to declare!
And now to forest-shades where dwell
The hermits, wend the wedded pair.
The doors of every house are hung
With gay festoons of leaves and flowers;
And blazing banners broad are flung,
And trumpets blown from castle towers!
Slow the procession makes its ground
Along the crowded city street:
And blessings in a storm of sound
At every step the couple greet.

Past all the houses, past the wall,
Past gardens gay, and hedgerows trim,
Past fields, where sinuous brooklets small
With molten silver to the brim
Glance in the sun's expiring light,
Past frowning hills, past pastures wild,
At last arises on the sight,
Foliage on foliage densely piled,
The woods primeval, where reside

"Hign bliss is only for a higher state,"
But, surely, if severe afflictions borne
With patience merit the reward of peace,
Peace ye deserve; and may the solid good,
Sought by a wise though late exchange, and here
With bounteous hand beneath a cottage-roof
To you accorded, never be withdrawn,
Nor for the world's best promises renounced.
Most soothing was it for a welcome Friend,
Fresh from the crowded city, to behold
That lonely union, privacy so deep,
Such calm employments, such entire content.
So when the rain is over, the storm laid,
A pair of herons oft-times have I seen,
Upon a rocky islet, side by side,
Drying their feathers in the sun, at ease;
And so, when night with grateful gloom had fallen,
Two glow-worms in such nearness that they shared,
...

My dear young friend, whose shining wit
    Sets all the room a-blaze,
Don't think yourself a "happy dog,"
    For all your merry ways;
But learn to wear a sober phiz,
    Be stupid, if you can,
It's such a very serious thing
    To be a funny man!

You're at an evening party, with
    A group of pleasant folks, -
You venture quietly to crack
    The least of little jokes, -
A lady doesn't catch the point,
    And begs you to explain -
Alas for one that drops a jest
    And takes it up again!

You're talking deep philosophy
    With very special force,
To edify a clergyman
    With suitable discourse, -
You think you've got him - when he calls
    A friend across the way,
And begs you'll say that funny thing
    You...

Shoo wor shoeless, an shiverin, an weet, -
Her hair flyin tangled an wild:
Shoo'd just been browt in aght o'th street,
Wi drink an mud splashes defiled.
Th' poleece sargent stood waitin to hear
What charge agean her wod be made,
He'd scant pity for them they browt thear,
To be surly wor pairt ov his trade.
"What name?" an he put it i'th' book, -
An shoo hardly seemed able to stand;
As shoo tottered, he happened to luk
saw summat claspt in her hand.
"What's that? Bring it here right away!
You can't take that into your cell;"
"It's nothing." "Is that what you say?
Let me have it and then I can tell."
"Nay, nay! yo shall nivver tak this!
It's dearer nor life is to me!
Lock me up, if aw've done owt amiss,
But aw'll stick fast to this wol aw dee!"

Hast thou then survived
Mild Offspring of infirm humanity,
Meek Infant! among all forlornest things
The most forlor, none life of that bright star,
The second glory of the Heavens?Thou hast,
Already hast survived that great decay,
That transformation through the wide earth felt,
And by all nations. In that Being's sight
From whom the Race of human kind proceed,
A thousand years are but as yesterday;
And one day's narrow circuit is to Him
Not less capacious than a thousand years.
But what is time? What outward glory? neither
A measure is of Thee, whose claims extend
Through "heaven's eternal year."Yet hail to Thee,
Frail, feeble Monthling! by that name, methinks,
Thy scanty breathing-time is portioned out
Not idly.Hadst thou been of Indian birth,
Couc...

Farewell, false Friend! - our scenes of kindness close!
    To cordial looks, to sunny smiles farewell!
    To sweet consolings, that can grief expel,
    And every joy soft sympathy bestows!
For alter'd looks, where truth no longer glows,
    Thou hast prepar'd my heart; - and it was well
    To bid thy pen th' unlook'd for story tell,
    Falsehood avow'd, that shame, nor sorrow knows. -
O! when we meet, - (to meet we're destin'd, try
    To avoid it as thou may'st) on either brow,
    Nor in the stealing consciousness of eye,
Be seen the slightest trace of what, or how
    We once were to each other; - nor one sigh
    Flatter with weak regret a broken vow!

Ay, thou has found thy kingdom, Yasin Khan,
Thy fathers' pomp and power are thine, at last.
No more the rugged roads of Khorasan,
The scanty food and tentage of the past!

Wouldst thou make war? thy followers know no fear.
Where shouldst thou lead them but to victory?
Wouldst thou have love? thy soft-eyed slaves draw near,
Eager to drain thy strength away from thee.

My thoughts drag backwards to forgotten days,
To scenes etched deeply on my heart by pain;
The thirsty marches, ambuscades, and frays,
The hostile hills, the burnt and barren plain.

Hast thou forgotten how one night was spent,
Crouched in a camel's carcase by the road,
Along which Akbar's soldiers, scouting, went,
And he himself, all unsuspecting, rode?

Did we not waken one d...

Of old sat Freedom on the heights,
The thunders breaking at her feet:
Above her shook the starry lights:
She heard the torrents meet.

There in her place she did rejoice,
Self-gather'd in her prophet-mind,
But fragments of her mighty voice
Came rolling on the wind.

Then stept she down thro' town and field
To mingle with the human race,
And part by part to men reveal'd
The fullness of her face --

Grave mother of majestic works,
From her isle-alter gazing down,
Who, God-like, grasps the triple forks,
And, King-like, wears the crown:

Her open eyes desire the truth.
The wisdom of a thousand years
Is in them. May perpetual youth
Keep dry their light from tears;

That her fair form may stand and shine
Make bright ...

King David was a sorrowful man:
No cause for his sorrow had he;
And he called for the music of a hundred harps,
To ease his melancholy.

They played till they all fell silent:
Played-and play sweet did they;
But the sorrow that haunted the heart of King David
They could not charm away.

He rose; and in his garden
Walked by the moon alone,
A nightingale hidden in a cypress-tree
Jargoned on and on.

King David lifted his sad eyes
Into the dark-boughed tree-
''Tell me, thou little bird that singest,
Who taught my grief to thee?'

But the bird in no wise heeded
And the king in the cool of the moon
Hearkened to the nightingale's sorrowfulness,
Till all his own was gone.

I touched the heart that loved me as a player
    Touches a lyre; content with my poor skill
    No touch save mine knew my beloved (and still
I thought at times: Is there no sweet lost air
Old loves could wake in him, I cannot share?).
    Oh, he alone, alone could so fulfil
    My thoughts in sound to the measure of my will.
He is gone, and silence takes me unaware.

The songs I knew not he resumes, set free
From my constraining love, alas for me!
    His part in our tune goes with him; my part
Is locked in me for ever; I stand as mute
    As one with full strong music in his heart
Whose fingers stray upon a shattered lute.

Ah, thankless! canst thou envy him who gains
    The Stoic's cold and indurate repose?
    Thou! with thy lively sense of bliss and woes! -
    From a false balance of life's joys and pains
Thou deem'st him happy. - Plac'd 'mid fair domains,
    Where full the river down the valley flows,
    As wisely might'st thou wish thy home had rose
    On the parch'd surface of unwater'd plains,
For that, when long the heavy rain descends,
    Bursts over guardian banks their whelming tide! -
    Seldom the wild and wasteful Flood extends,
But, spreading plenty, verdure, beauty wide,
    The cool translucent Stream perpetual bends,
    And laughs the Vale as the bright waters glide.

Come down, O maid, from yonder mountain height:
What pleasure lives in height (the shepherd sang)
In height and cold, the splendour of the hills?
But cease to move so near the Heavens, and cease
To glide a sunbeam by the blasted Pine,
To sit a star upon the sparkling spire;
And come, for Love is of the valley, come,
For Love is of the valley, come thou down
And find him; by the happy threshold, he,
Or hand in hand with Plenty in the maize,
Or red with spirted purple of the vats,
Or foxlike in the vine; nor cares to walk
With Death and Morning on the silver horns,
Nor wilt thou snare him in the white ravine,
Nor find him dropt upon the firths of ice,
That huddling slant in furrow-cloven falls
To roll the torrent out of dusky doors:
But follow; let the torr...

    My wife lost her health,
    And dwindled until she weighed scarce ninety pounds.
    Then that woman, whom the men
    Styled Cleopatra, came along.
    And we - we married ones
    All broke our vows, myself among the rest.
    Years passed and one by one
    Death claimed them all in some hideous form
    And I was borne along by dreams
    Of God's particular grace for me,
    And I began to write, write, write, reams on reams
    Of the second coming of Christ.
    Then Christ came to me and said,
    "Go into the church and stand before the congregation
    And confess your sin."
    But just as I stood up and began to speak
    I saw my little girl, who was sitting in the front seat -
    My little girl who was born blind!
    After that, ...

On Bancroft height Aurora's face
    Shines brighter than a star,
As stepping forth in dewy grace,
    The gates of day unbar;
And lo! the firmament, the hills,
    And the vales that intervene -
Creation's self with gladness thrills
    To greet the matin queen.

On Bancroft height the atmosphere
    Is but an endless waft
Of life's elixir, pure and clear
    As mortal ever quaffed;
And such the sweet salubrity
    Of air and altitude,
Is banished many a malady
    And suffering subdued.

On Bancroft height the sunset glow
    When day departing dies
Outrivals all that tourists know
    Of famed Italian skies;
And happy dwellers round about
    Who view the scene aright
In admiration grow devout
    And laud the Lo...

Though red my blood hath left its trail
For five far miles, I shall not fail,
As God in Heaven wills!
The way was long through that black land.
With sword on hip and horn in hand,
At last before thy walls I stand,
O Lady of the Hills!

No seneschal shall put to scorn
The summons of my bugle-horn!
No man-at-arms shall stay!
Yea! God hath helped my strength too far
By bandit-caverned wood and scar
To give it pause now, or to bar
My all-avenging way.

This hope still gives my body strength
To kiss her eyes and lips at length
Where all her kin can see;
Then 'mid her towers of crime and gloom,
Sin-haunted like the Halls of Doom,
To smite her dead in that wild room
Red-lit with revelry.

Madly I rode; nor once did slack.
...