Freedom

        I saw the day lean o'er the world's sharp edge
    And peer into night's chasm, dark and damp;
    High in his hand he held a blazing lamp,
        Then dropped it and plunged headlong down the ledge.

        With lurid splendor that swift paled to gray,
    I saw the dim skies suddenly flush bright.
    'Twas but the expiring glory of the light
        Flung from the hand of the adventurous day.

Of all the days in memory's list,
Those motley banish'd days;
Some overhung with sorrow's mist,
Some gilt with hopeful rays;
There is a day 'bove all the rest
That has a lovely sound,
There is a day I love the best--
When Patty first was found.

When first I look'd upon her eye,
And all her charms I met,
There's many a day gone heedless by,
But that I'll ne'er forget;
I met my love beneath the tree,
I help'd her o'er the stile,
The very shade is dear to me
That blest me with her smile.

Strange to the world my artless fair,
But artless as she be,
She found the witching art when there
To win my heart from me;
And all the days the year can bring,
As sweet as they may prove,
There'll ne'er come one like that I sing,
Wh...

Sometimes my idle heart would roam
    Far from its quiet happy nest,
To seek some other newer home,
    Some unaccustomed Best:
But ere it spreads its foolish wings,
'Heart, stay at home, be wise!' Love's wisdom sings.

Sometimes my idle heart would sail
    From out its quiet sheltered bay,
To tempt a less pacific gale,
    And oceans far away:
But ere it shakes its foolish wings,
'Heart, stay at home, be wise!' Love's wisdom sings.

Sometimes my idle heart would fly,
    Mothlike, to reach some shining sin,
It seems so sweet to burn and die
    That wondrous light within:
But ere it burns its foolish wings,
'Heart, stay at home, be wise!' Love's wisdom sings.

I

The mellow smell of hollyhocks
And marigolds and pinks and phlox
Blends with the homely garden scents
Of onions, silvering into rods;
Of peppers, scarlet with their pods;
And (rose of all the esculents)
Of broad plebeian cabbages,
Breathing content and corpulent ease.

II

The buzz of wasp and fly makes hot
The spaces of the garden-plot;
And from the orchard, - where the fruit
Ripens and rounds, or, loosed with heat,
Rolls, hornet-clung, before the feet, -
One hears the veery's golden flute,
That mixes with the sleepy hum
Of bees that drowsily go and come.

III

The podded musk of gourd and vine
Embower a gate of roughest pine,
That leads into a wood where day
Sits, leaning o'er a forest pool,
Watc...

    In bloom and bud the bees are busily
        Storing against the winter their sweet hoard
    That shall be rifled ere the autumn be
        Past, or the winter comes with silver sword
    To fright the bees, until the merry round
    Tells them that sweets again are to be found.

    The lusty tide is flowing by in ease,
        Telling of joy along its brimming way;
    Far in its waters is an isle of trees
        Whereto the sun will go at end of day,
    As who in secret place and dear is hid,
    And scarce can rouse him thence tho' he be chid.

    Now justice comes all trouble to repair,
        And cheeks that had been wan are coloured well,
    The untilled moor is comely, and the air
        Hath a great round of song from bird in dell,

I saw him go down to the water to bathe;
He stood naked upon the bank.

His breast was like a white cloud in the heaven,
that catches the sun;
It swelled with the sharp joy of the air.

His legs rose with the spring and curve of young birches;
The hollow of his back caught the blue shadows:

With his head thrown up to the lips of the wind;
And the curls of his forehead astir with the wind.

I would that I were a man, they are so beautiful;
Their bodies are like the bows of the Indians;
They have the spring and the grace of bows of hickory.

I know that women are beautiful, and that I am beautiful;
But the beauty of a man is so lithe and alive and triumphant,
Swift as the night of a swallow and sure as the
pounce of the eagle.

THE APPARITION OF HIS, MISTRESS,
CALLING HIM TO ELYSIUM

DESUNT NONNULLA

Come then, and like two doves with silvery wings,
Let our souls fly to th' shades, wherever springs
Sit smiling in the meads; where balm and oil,
Roses and cassia, crown the untill'd soil;
Where no disease reigns, or infection comes
To blast the air, but amber-gris and gums.
This, that, and ev'ry thicket doth transpire
More sweet than storax from the hallow'd fire;
Where ev'ry tree a wealthy issue bears
Of fragrant apples, blushing plums, or pears;
And all the shrubs, with sparkling spangles, shew
Like morning sun-shine, tinselling the dew.
Here in green meadows sits eternal May,
Purfling the margents, while perpetual day
So double-gilds the air, as that no night
Can ...

I.
From heavy dreams fair Helen rose,
And eyed the dawning red:
"Alas, my love, thou tarriest long!
O art thou false or dead?"

II.
With gallant Fred'rick's princely power
He sought the bold Crusade;
But not a word from Judah's wars
Told Helen how he sped.

III.
With Paynim and with Saracen
At length a truce was made,
And every knight return'd to dry
The tears his love had shed.

IV.
Our gallant host was homeward bound
With many a song of joy;
Green waved the laurel in each plume,
The badge of victory.

V.
And old and young, and sire and son,
To meet them crowd the way,
With shouts, and mirth, and melody,
The debt of love to pay.

VI.
Full many a maid her true-love met,
And sobb'd ...

It is May, and the moon leans down at night
    Over a blossomy land;
Leans from her window a lady white,
    With her cheek upon her hand.

"Oh, why in the blue so misty, moon?
    Why so dull in the sky?
Thou look'st like one that is ready to swoon
    Because her tear-well is dry.

"Enough, enough of longing and wail!
    Oh, bird, I pray thee, be glad!
Sing to me once, dear nightingale,
    The old song, merry mad.

"Hold, hold with thy blossoming, colourless, cold,
    Apple-tree white as woe!
Blossom yet once with the blossom of old,
    Let the roses shine through the snow!"

The moon and the blossoms they gloomily gleam,
    The bird will not be glad:
The dead never speak when the mournful dream,
    They are too weak...

[Revelation 16: Verses 16-19]


    And must the Senator from Illinois
    Be this squat thing, with blinking, half-closed eyes?
    This brazen gutter idol, reared to power
    Upon a leering pyramid of lies?

    And must the Senator from Illinois
    Be the world's proverb of successful shame,
    Dazzling all State house flies that steal and steal,
    Who, when the sad State spares them, count it fame?

    If once or twice within his new won hall
    His vote had counted for the broken men;
    If in his early days he wrought some good -
    We might a great soul's sins forgive him then.

    But must the Senator from Illinois
    Be vindicated by fat kings of gold?
    And must he be belauded by the smirched,
    The sleek, unca...

Cambodunum is the name of a Roman station, situated on a farm at Slack, on the hills above Huddersfield.


Cambodunum, Cambodunum,
    how I love the sound o' t' name!
Roman sowdiers belt a fort here,
    gave th' owd place its lastin' fame.

We've bin lords o' Cambodunum
    for well-nigh eight hunderd yeer;
Fowk say our fore-elders
    bowt it of a Roman charioteer.

Ay, I know we're nobbut farmers,
    mowin' gerse an' tentin' kye,
But we're proud of all we've stood for
    i' yon ages that's gone by;

Proud of all the slacks we've drained,
    an' proud of all the walls we've belt,
Proud to think we've bred our childer
    on the ground wheer Romans dwelt.

"Niver pairt wi' Cambodunum,"
    that's what father used to...

They know the time to go!
The fairy clocks strike their inaudible hour
In field and woodland, and each punctual flower
Bows at the signal an obedient head
And hastes to bed.

The pale Anemone
Glides on her way with scarcely a good-night;
The Violets tie their purple nightcaps tight;
Hand clasped in hand, the dancing Columbines,
In blithesome lines,

Drop their last courtesies,
Flit from the scene, and couch them for their rest;
The Meadow Lily folds her scarlet vest
And hides it 'neath the Grasses' lengthening green;
Fair and serene,

Her sister Lily floats
On the blue pond, and raises golden eyes
To court the golden splendor of the skies,--
The sudden signal comes, and down she goes
To find repose,

In the cool depths b...

That summer sun, whose genial glow
Now cheers my drooping spirit so
Must cold and distant be,
And only light our northern clime
With feeble ray, before the time
I long so much to see.

And this soft whispering breeze that now
So gently cools my fevered brow,
This too, alas, must turn
To a wild blast whose icy dart
Pierces and chills me to the heart,
Before I cease to mourn.

And these bright flowers I love so well,
Verbena, rose and sweet bluebell,
Must droop and die away.
Those thick green leaves with all their shade
And rustling music, they must fade
And every one decay.

But if the sunny summer time
And woods and meadows in their prime
Are sweet to them that roam
Far sweeter is the winter bare
With long dark nigh...

Along the hot and endless road,
    Calm and erect, with haggard eyes,
The prisoner bore his fetters' load
    Beneath the scorching, azure skies.

Serene and tall, with brows unbent,
    Without a hope, without a friend,
He, under escort, onward went,
    With death to meet him at the end.

The Poppy fields were pink and gay
    On either side, and in the heat
Their drowsy scent exhaled all day
    A dream-like fragrance almost sweet.

And when the cool of evening fell
    And tender colours touched the sky,
He still felt youth within him dwell
    And half forgot he had to die.

Sometimes at night, the Camp-fires lit
    And casting fitful light around,
His guard would, friend-like, let him sit
    And talk awhile with them...

The sun was heavy; no more shade at all
Than you might cover with a hollow cup
There was in the south chamber; wall by wall,
Slowly the hot noon filled the castle up.
One hand among the rushes, one let play
Where the loose gold began to swerve and droop
From his fair mantle to the floor, she lay;
Her face held up a little, for delight
To feel his eyes upon it, one would say.
Her grave shut lips were glad to be in sight
Of Tristram's kisses; she had often turned
Against her shifted pillows in the night
To lessen the sore pain wherein they burned
For want of Tristram; her great eyes had grown
Less keen and sudden, and a hunger yearned
Her sick face through, these wretched years agone.
Her eyes said "Tristram" now, but her lips held
The joy too close for any...

Lad, and can you rest now,
    There beneath your hill!
Your hands are on your breast now,
    But is your heart so still?
'Twas the right death to die, lad,
    A gift without regret,
But unless truth's a lie, lad,
    You dream of Devon yet.

Ay, ay, the year's awaking,
    The fire's among the ling,
The beechen hedge is breaking,
    The curlew's on the wing;
Primroses are out, lad,
    On the high banks of Lee,
And the sun stirs the trout, lad;
    From Brendon to the sea.

I know what's in your heart, lad,---
    The mare he used to hunt---
And her blue market-cart, lad,
    With posies tied in front---
We miss them from the moor road,
    They're getting old to roam,
The road they're on's a sure road
    And n...

The passion of despair is quelled at last;
    The cruel sense of undeserved wrong,
The wild self-pity, these are also past;
    She knows not what may come, but she is strong;
She feels she hath not aught to lose nor gain,
Her patience is the essence of all pain.


As one who sits beside a lapsing stream,
    She sees the flow of changeless day by day,
Too sick and tired to think, too sad to dream,
    Nor cares how soon the waters slip away,
Nor where they lead; at the wise God's decree,
She will depart or bide indifferently.


There is deeper pathos in the mild
    And settled sorrow of the quiet eyes,
Than in the tumults of the anguish wild,
    That made her curse all things beneath the skies;
No question, no reproaches, no complaint,<...

I left my home for travelling;
Because I heard the strange birds sing
In foreign skies, and felt their wing

Brush past my soul impatiently;
I saw the bloom on flower and tree
That only grows beyond the sea.

Methought the distant voices spake
More wisdom than near tongues can make;
I followed-lest my heart should break.

And what is past is past and done.
I dreamt, and here the dream begun:
I saw a salmon in the sun

Leap from the river to the shore-
Ah! strange mishap, so wounded sore,
To his sweet stream to turn no more.

A bird from ’neath his mother’s breast,
Spread his weak wings in vain request;
Never again to reach his nest.

I saw a blossom bloom too soon
Upon a summer’s afternoon;
’Twill breathe no mo...