Identity

Ay, thou art for the grave; thy glances shine
Too brightly to shine long; another Spring
Shall deck her for men's eyes, but not for thine,
Sealed in a sleep which knows no wakening.
The fields for thee have no medicinal leaf,
And the vexed ore no mineral of power;
And they who love thee wait in anxious grief
Till the slow plague shall bring the fatal hour.
Glide softly to thy rest then; Death should come
Gently, to one of gentle mould like thee,
As light winds wandering through groves of bloom
Detach the delicate blossom from the tree.
Close thy sweet eyes, calmly, and without pain;
And we will trust in God to see thee yet again.

Sweep thy faint Strings, Musician,
    With thy long lean hand;
Downward the starry tapers burn,
    Sinks soft the waning sand;
The old hound whimpers couched in sleep,
    The embers smoulder low;
Across the walls the shadows
    Come, and go.

Sweep softly thy strings, Musician,
    The minutes mount to hours;
Frost on the windless casement weaves
    A labyrinth of flowers;
Ghosts linger in the darkening air,
    Hearken at the open door;
Music hath called them, dreaming,
    Home once more.

Mother! whose virgin bosom was uncrost
With the least shade of thought to sin allied.
Woman! above all women glorified,
Our tainted nature’s solitary boast;
Purer than foam on central ocean tost;
Brighter than eastern skies at daybreak strewn
With fancied roses, than the unblemished moon
Before her wane begins on heaven’s blue coast;
Thy image falls to earth. Yet some, I ween,
Not unforgiven the suppliant knee might bend,
As to a visible Power, in which did blend
All that was mixed and reconciled in thee
Of mother’s love with maiden purity,
Of high with low, celestial with terrene!

        A mile behind is Gloucester town
        Where the fishing fleets put in,
        A mile ahead the land dips down
        And the woods and farms begin.
        Here, where the moors stretch free
        In the high blue afternoon,
        Are the marching sun and talking sea,
        And the racing winds that wheel and flee
        On the flying heels of June.

        Jill-o'er-the-ground is purple blue,
        Blue is the quaker-maid,
        The wild geranium holds its dew
        Long in the boulder's shade.
        Wax-red hangs the cup
        From the huckleberry boughs,
        In barberry bells the grey moths sup,
        Or where the choke-cherry lifts high up
        Sweet bowls for their carouse.

        Over the shel...

Jim Bowker, he said, ef he'd had a fair show,
And a big enough town for his talents to grow,
And the least bit assistance in hoein' his row,
                Jim Bowker, he said,
He'd filled the world full of the sound of his name,
An' clim the top round in the ladder of fame.
                It may have been so;
                        I dunno;
                Jest so, it might been,
                        Then ag'in,

But he had tarnal luck, eyerythin' went ag'in him,
The arrers of fortune they allus' 'ud pin him;
So he didn't get no chance to show off what was in him.
                Jim Bowker, he said,
Ef he'd had a fair show, you couldn't tell where he'd come,
An' the feats he'd a-done, an' the heights he'd a-clum,
                It may have been s...

This world is not conclusion;
A sequel stands beyond,
Invisible, as music,
But positive, as sound.
It beckons and it baffles;
Philosophies don't know,
And through a riddle, at the last,
Sagacity must go.
To guess it puzzles scholars;
To gain it, men have shown
Contempt of generations,
And crucifixion known.

        (To a Coxcomb.)


        Ah! my dear fellow, write the motto
        NOSCE TEIPSUM o'er your grotto;
        For he must daily wiser grow,
        Determined his own scope to know.
        He never launches from the shore
        Without the compass, sail, and oar.
        He, ere he builds, computes the costs;
        And, ere he fights, reviews the hosts.
        He safely walks within the fence,
        And reason takes from common sense:
        Pride and presumption standing checked
        Before some palpable defect.

        To aid the search for pride's eviction,
        A coxcomb claims a high distinction.
        Not to one age or sex confined
        Are coxcombs, but of rank and kind;
        Pervading all ranks...

In some quaint Nurnberg maler-atelier
Uprummaged. When and where was never clear
Nor yet how he obtained it. When, by whom
'Twas painted who shall say? itself a gloom
Resisting inquisition. I opine
It is a Dürer. Mark that touch, this line;
Are they deniable? Distinguished grace
Of the pure oval of the noble face
Tarnished in color badly. Half in light
Extend it so. Incline. The exquisite
Expression leaps abruptly: piercing scorn;
Imperial beauty; each, an icy thorn
Of light, disdainful eyes and... well! no use!
Effaced and but beheld! a sad abuse
Of patience. Often, vaguely visible,
The portrait fills each feature, making swell
The heart with hope: avoiding face and hair
Start out in living hues; astonished, "There!
The picture lives!" your soul exu...

Ere Reason rose within my breast,
    To enforce her sacred law,
Still would some charm, in every maid,
    My veering passions draw.

But now, to calm those gales of night,
    The morn her light displays;
The twinkling stars no more I view,
    For only Venus sways:

The spotless heaven of genuine love
    Unveil'd I wondering see,
And all that heaven, transported, claim
    For Julia and for me.

Death and Famine on every side
    And never a sign of rain,
The bones of those who have starved and died
    Unburied upon the plain.
What care have I that the bones bleach white?
    To-morrow they may be mine,
But I shall sleep in your arms to-night
    And drink your lips like wine!

Cholera, Riot, and Sudden Death,
    And the brave red blood set free,
The glazing eye and the failing breath, -
    But what are these things to me?
Your breath is quick and your eyes are bright
    And your blood is red like wine,
And I shall sleep in your arms to-night
    And hold your lips with mine!

I hear the sound of a thousand tears,
    Like softly pattering rain,
I see the fever, folly, and fears
    Fulfilling man's tale of pain.
But ...

    A for the ape, that we saw at the fair;
    B for a blockhead, who ne'er shall go there;
    C for a collyflower, white as a curd;
    D for a duck, a very good bird;
    E for an egg, good in pudding or pies;
    F for a farmer, rich, honest, and wise;
    G for a gentleman, void of all care;
    H for the hound, that ran down the hare;
    I for an Indian, sooty and dark;
    K for the keeper, that look'd to the park;
    L for a lark, that soar'd in the air;
    M for a mole, that ne'er could get there;
    N for Sir Nobody, ever in fault;
    O for an otter, that ne'er could be caught;
    P for a pudding, stuck full of plums;
    Q was for quartering it, see here he comes;
    R for a rook, that croak'd in the trees;
    S for a sailor, that plou...

By homestead, hut, and shearing-shed,
By railroad, coach, and track,
By lonely graves of our brave dead,
Up-Country and Out-Back:
To where 'neath glorious the clustered stars
The dreamy plains expand,
My home lies wide a thousand miles
In the Never-Never Land.

It lies beyond the farming belt,
Wide wastes of scrub and plain,
A blazing desert in the drought,
A lake-land after rain;
To the sky-line sweeps the waving grass,
Or whirls the scorching sand,
A phantom land, a mystic land!
The Never-Never Land.

Where lone Mount Desolation lies,
Mounts Dreadful and Despair,
'Tis lost beneath the rainless skies
In hopeless deserts there;
It spreads nor'-west by No-Man's-Land,
Where clouds are seldom seen,
To where the cattle-stati...

At evening when the lamp is lit,
    The tired Human People sit
And doze, or turn with solemn looks
    The speckled pages of their books.

Then I, the Dangerous Kitten, prowl
    And in the Shadows softly growl,
And roam about the farthest floor
    Where Kitten never trod before.

And, crouching in the jungle damp,
    I watch the Human Hunter's camp,
Ready to spring with fearful roar
    As soon as I shall hear them snore.

And then with stealthy tread I crawl
    Into the dark and trackless hall,
Where 'neath the Hat-tree's shadows deep
    Umbrellas fold their wings and sleep.

A cuckoo calls--and to their dens
    The People climb like frightened hens,
And I'm alone--and no one cares
    In Darkest Africa--down stairs.

As he trudged along to school,
It was always Johnny's rule
To be looking at the sky
And the clouds that floated by;
But what just before him lay,
In his way,
Johnny never thought about;
So that every one cried out
"Look at little Johnny there,
Little Johnny Head-In-Air!"

Running just in Johnny's way
Came a little dog one day;
Johnny's eyes were still astray
Up on high,
In the sky;
And he never heard them cry
"Johnny, mind, the dog is nigh!"
Bump!
Dump!
Down they fell, with such a thump,
Dog and Johnny in a lump!

Once, with head as high as ever,
Johnny walked beside the river.
Johnny watched the swallows trying
Which was cleverest at flying.
Oh! what fun!
Johnny watched the bright round sun
Goin...

Come hearken, hearken, gentles all,
    Come hearken unto me,
And I'll sing you a song of a Wood-Lyon
    Came swimming out over the sea.

He ranged west, he ranged east,
    And far and wide ranged he;
He took his bite out of every beast
    Lives under the greenwood tree.

Then by there came a silly old wolf,
    'And I'll serve you,' quoth he;
Quoth the Lyon, 'My paw is heavy enough,
    So what wilt thou do for me?'

Then by there came a cunning old fox,
    'And I'll serve you,' quoth he;
Quoth the Lyon, 'My wits are sharp enough
    So what wilt thou do for me?'

Then by there came a white, white dove,
    Flew off Our Lady's knee;
Sang 'It's I will be your true, true love,
    If you'll be true to me.'

'And ...

How blest art thou, canst love the countrey, Wroth,
Whether by choyce, or fate, or both!
And, though so neere the Citie, and the Court,
Art tane with neithers vice, nor sport:
That at great times, art no ambitious guest
Of Sheriffes dinner, or Maiors feast.
Nor com'st to view the better cloth of State;
The richer hangings, or crowne-plate;
Nor throng'st (when masquing is) to have a fight
Of the short braverie of the night;
To view the jewels, stuffes, the paines, the wit
There wasted, some not paid for yet!
But canst, at home, in thy securer rest,
Live, with un-bought provision blest;
Free from proud porches, or their guilded roofes,
'Mongst loughing heards, and solid hoofes:
Along'st the curled woods, and painted meades,
Through which a serpent river lea...

How wunderschön das Vaterland
In audumn-life abbears;
Vot rainpows gild ids vallies crand,
Ven seen troo vallin tears.
Und VON I’ll creet mit sang und klang,
Und drown in goldnen wein;
Old Deutschland’s cot her sohn again:
Hans Breitmann’s on der Rhein.

Und doughts ish schwell dat mighdy heart,
Too awfool for make known;
Ven dey shunt him from de railroat car
Und tropped him in Cologne.
De holy towers of de dome
Cleam, twilicht-veiled, afar;
Und like some lonely bilgrim’s pipe,
Dim shines de efenin star.

Hans look to find his baggage check,
Und see dat all ish shdraighdts,
Denn toorn him to de city toors,
“Mein nadife land—wie gehts?”
Boot dat’s vot all who read may run—
Fool blainly armies write;
Id’s ofer all half Sh...

Why was Cupid a boy,
    And why a boy was he?
He should have been a girl,
    For aught that I can see.

For he shoots with his bow,
    And the girl shoots with her eye;
And they both are merry and glad,
    And laugh when we do cry.

Then to make Cupid a boy
    Was surely a woman's plan,
For a boy never learns so much
    Till he has become a man.

And then he's so pierced with cares,
    And wounded with arrowy smarts,
That the whole business of his life
    Is to pick out the heads of the darts.

        William Blake.