Identity

Where went the feet that hitherto have come?
    Here yawns no gulf to quench the flowing past!
With lengthening pauses broke, the path grows dumb;
    The grass floats in; the gazer stands aghast.

Tremble not, maiden, though the footprints die;
    By no air-path ascend the lark's clear notes;
The mighty-throated when he mounts the sky
    Over some lowly landmark sings and floats.

Be of good cheer. Paths vanish from the wave;
    There all the ships tear each its track of gray;
Undaunted they the wandering desert brave:
    In each a magic finger points the way.

No finger finely touched, no eye of lark
    Hast thou to guide thy steps where footprints fail?
Ah, then, 'twere well to turn before the dark,
    Nor dream to find thy dreams in yonder...

    I should be busy with words
    but light distracts me
    makes for me, in the sowing of its waves,
    neutral observances, a chilled awareness
    that the sublime is contained herein
    the wonders of the commonplace.

After the May time, and after the June time
    Rare with blossoms and perfumes sweet,
Cometh the round world's royal noon time,
    The red midsummer of blazing heat.
When the sun, like an eye that never closes,
    Bends on the earth its fervid gaze,
And the winds are still, and the crimson roses
    Droop and wither and die in its rays.

Unto my heart has come that season,
    O my lady, my worshiped one,
When over the stars of Pride and Reason
    Sails Love's cloudless, noonday sun.
Like a great red ball in my bosom burning
    With fires that nothing can quench or tame.
It glows till my heart itself seems turning
    Into a liquid lake of flame.

The hopes half shy, and the sighs all tender,
    The dreams and fears of an earlier day,

From this deep chasm, where quivering sunbeams play
Upon its loftiest crags, mine eyes behold
A gloomy Niche, capacious, blank, and cold;
A concave free from shrubs and mosses grey;
In semblance fresh, as if, with dire affray,
Some Statue, placed amid these regions old
For tutelary service, thence had rolled,
Startling the flight of timid Yesterday!
Was it by mortals sculptured? weary slaves
Of slow endeavour! or abruptly cast
Into rude shape by fire, with roaring blast
Tempestuously let loose from central caves?
Or fashioned by the turbulence of waves,
Then, when o'er highest hills the Deluge passed?

    I am slowly treading the mazy track
That leadeth, through sunshine and shadows, back -
Through freshest meads where the dews yet cling
As erst they did to each lowly thing,
Where flowers bloom and where streamlets flow
With the tender music of long ago -
To the far-off past that, through mists of tears,
In its spring time loveliness still appears,
And wooes me back to the gleaming shore
Of sunny years that return no more.

    And to night, all weary, and sad, and lone,
I return in thought to those bright years flown,
Whose lingering sweetness, e'en yet, I feel
Like the breath of flower-scents over me steal
I am treading o'er mounds where the dead repose, -
I am stirring the dust of life's perished rose, -
I am rustling the withered leaves that lie

River! that in silence windest
Through the meadows, bright and free,
Till at length thy rest thou findest
In the bosom of the sea!

Four long years of mingled feeling,
Half in rest, and half in strife,
I have seen thy waters stealing
Onward, like the stream of life.

Thou hast taught me, Silent River!
    Many a lesson, deep and long;
Thou hast been a generous giver;
    I can give thee but a song.

Oft in sadness and in illness,
    I have watched thy current glide,
Till the beauty of its stillness
    Overflowed me, like a tide.

And in better hours and brighter,
    When I saw thy waters gleam,
I have felt my heart beat lighter,
    And leap onward with thy stream.

Not for this alone I love thee,
    Nor be...

When soft winds and sunny skies
With the green earth harmonize,
And the young and dewy dawn,
Bold as an unhunted fawn,
Up the windless heaven is gone, -
Laugh - for ambushed in the day, -
Clouds and whirlwinds watch their prey.

Ah, from out this valley hollow,
By cold fogs always oppressed,
Could I but the outpath follow--
Ah, how were my spirit blest!
Hills I see there, glad dominions,
Ever young, and green for aye!
Had I wings, oh, had I pinions,
To the hills were I away!

Harmonies I hear there ringing,
Tones of sweetest heavenly rest;
And the gentle winds are bringing
Balmy odours to my breast!
Golden fruits peep out there, glowing
Through the leaves to Zephyr's play;
And the flowers that there are blowing
Will become no winter's prey!

Oh, what happy things are meeting
There, in endless sunshine free!
And the airs on those hills greeting,
How reviving must they be!
But me checks yon raving river
That betwixt doth chafe and roll;
And its da...

Emily Jane was a nursery maid,
James was a bold Life Guard,
John was a constable, poorly paid
(And I am a doggerel bard).

A very good girl was Emily Jane,
Jimmy was good and true,
John was a very good man in the main
(And I am a good man too).

Rivals for Emmie were Johnny and James,
Though Emily liked them both;
She couldn't tell which had the strongest claims
(And I couldn't take my oath).

But sooner or later you're certain to find
Your sentiments can't lie hid -
JANE thought it was time that she made up her mind
(And I think it was time she did).

Said Jane, with a smirk, and a blush on her face,
"I'll promise to wed the boy
Who takes me to-morrow to Epsom Race!"
(Which I would have done, with joy).

Fro...

Thank God for such a Hero! - Fearless hold
    His diamond character beneath the sun,
    And brighter scintillations, one by one,
Come flashing from it. Never knight of old
Wore on serener brow, so calm, yet bold,
    Diviner courage: never martyr knew
    Trust more sublime, - nor patriot, zeal more true, -
Nor saint, self-abnegation of a mould
    Touched with profounder beauty. All the rare,
Clear, starry points of light, that gave his soul
    Such lambent lustre, owned but one sole aim, -
    Not for himself, nor yet his country's fame,
These glories shone: he kept the clustered whole
    A jewel for the crown that Christ shall wear!

The April night is still and sweet
With flowers on every tree;
Peace comes to them on quiet feet,
But not to me.

My peace is hidden in his breast
Where I shall never be;
Love comes to-night to all the rest,
But not to me.

Is it your face I see, your voice I hear?
    Your face, your voice, again after these years!
O is your cheek once more against my cheek?
    And is this blessed rain, angel, your tears?

You have come back, - how strange - out of the grave;
    Its dreams are in your eyes, and still there clings
Dust of the grave on your vainglorious hair;
    And a mysterious rust is on these rings -

The ring we gave each other, that young night
    When the moon rose on our betrothal kiss;
When the sun rose upon our wedding day,
    How wonderful it was to give you this!

I dreamed you were a bird or a wild flower,
    Some changed lovely thing that was not you;
Maybe, I said, she is the morning star,
    A radiance unfathomably far -

And now again you...

I love the tropics, where sun and rain
Go forth together, a joyous train,
To hold up the green, gay side of the world,
And to keep earth's banners of bloom unfurled.

I love the scents that are hidden there
By housekeeper Time, in her chests of air:
Strange and subtle and all a-rife,
With vague lost dreams of a bygone life.

They steal upon you by night and day,
But never a whiff can you take away:
And never a song of a tropic bird
Outside of its palm-decked land is heard.

And nowhere else can you know the sweet
Soft, 'joy-in-nothing,' that comes with the heat
Of tropic regions.    And yet, and yet,
If in evergreen worlds my way were set

I would span the waters of widest seas
To see the wonder of waking trees;
To feel the shock ...

After the May time, and after the June time,
    Rare with blossoms and perfumes sweet,
Cometh the round world's royal noon time,
    The red midsummer of blazing heat.
When the sun, like an eye that never closes,
    Bends on the earth its fervid gaze,
And the winds are still, and the crimson roses
    Droop and wither and die in its rays.

Unto my heart has come that season,
    O my lady, my worshipped one,
When over the stars of Pride and Reason
    Sails Love's cloudless, noonday sun.
Like a great red ball in my bosom burning
    With fires that nothing can quench or tame.
It glows till my heart itself seems turning
    Into a liquid lake of flame.

The hopes half shy, and the sighs all tender,
    The dreams and fears of an earlier day,

The way her silky garments undulate
It seems she's dancing as she walks along,
Like serpents that the sacred charmers make
To move in rhythms of their waving wands.

Like desert sands and skies she is as well,
As unconcerned with human misery,
Like the long networks of the ocean's swells
Unfolding with insensibility.

Her polished eyes are made of charming stones,
And in her essence, where the natures mix
Of holy angel and the ancient sphinx,

Where all is lit with gold, steel, diamonds,
A useless star, it shines eternally,
The sterile woman's frigid majesty.

How beautiful is the rain!
After the dust and heat,
In the broad and fiery street,
In the narrow lane,
How beautiful is the rain!

How it clatters along the roofs,
Like the tramp of hoofs
How it gushes and struggles out
From the throat of the overflowing spout!

Across the window-pane
It pours and pours;
And swift and wide,
With a muddy tide,
Like a river down the gutter roars
The rain, the welcome rain!

The sick man from his chamber looks
At the twisted brooks;
He can feel the cool
Breath of each little pool;
His fevered brain
Grows calm again,
And he breathes a blessing on the rain.

From the neighboring school
Come the boys,
With more than their wonted noise
And commotion;
And down the w...

What mean the joyous sounds from yonder vine-clad height?
What the exulting Evoe? [63]
Why glows the cheek? Whom is't that I, with pinions light,
Swinging the lofty Thyrsus see?

Is it the genius whom the gladsome throng obeys?
Do I his numerous train descry?
In plenty's teeming horn the gifts of heaven he sways,
And reels from very ecstacy!

See how the golden grape in glorious beauty shines,
Kissed by the earliest morning-beams!
The shadow of yon bower, how lovingly it signs,
As it with countless blessings teams!

Ha! glad October, thou art welcome unto me!
October's first-born, welcome thou!
Thanks of a purer kind, than all who worship thee,
More heartfelt thanks I'm bringing now!

For thou to me the one whom I have loved so well,
A...

Like a dew-drop from heaven in the ocean of life,
    From the morn's rosy diadem falling,
A stranger as yet to the storms and the strife,
    Dear babe, of thy earthly calling!

Thine eyes have unclosed on this valley of tears;
    Hark! that cry is the herald of anguish and woe;
Thy young spirit finds a deep voice for its fears,
    Prophetic of all that is passing below.

How short will the term of thy ignorance be!
    The winds and the tempests will rise,
And passion will cover with wrecks the calm sea,
On whose surface no shadow now lies.

Unclouded and fair is the morn of thy birth,
    The first lovely day in a season of gloom;
Whilst a pilgrim and stranger thou treadest this earth,
    May the sunbeams of hope gild thy path to the tomb.