Loneliness

A ship that bears much sail, and little ballast, is easily overset; and that man, whose head hath great abilities, and his heart little or no grace, is in danger of foundering.
The finest bread has the least bran; the purest honey, the least wax; and the sincerest Christian, the least self-love.
Sweet words are like honey; a little may refresh, but too much gluts the stomach.
Divers children have their different natures: some are like flesh which nothing but salt will keep from putrefaction; some again like tender fruits that are best preserved with sugar. Those parents are wise that can fit their nurture according to their nature.
Authority without wisdom is like a heavy axe without an edge, fitter to bruise than polish.
The reason why Christians are so loath to exchange this world for a better, is because they h...

Take a pair of sparkling eyes,
Hidden, ever and anon,
In a merciful eclipse
Do not heed their mild surprise
Having passed the Rubicon.
Take a pair of rosy lips;
Take a figure trimly planned
Such as admiration whets
(Be particular in this);
Take a tender little hand,
Fringed with dainty fingerettes,
Press it in parenthesis;
Take all these, you lucky man
Take and keep them, if you can.

Take a pretty little cot
Quite a miniature affair
Hung about with trellised vine,
Furnish it upon the spot
With the treasures rich and rare
I've endeavored to define.
Live to love and love to live
You will ripen at your ease,
Growing on the sunny side
Fate has nothing more to give.
You're a dainty man to please
If you are not sati...

This is the lesson I have learned of Beauty:
Who gathers flowers finds that flowers fade:
Who sets love in his heart above his duty
Misses the part for which that love was made.
Than passion, haply, there is nothing madder:
Who plucks its red rose plucks with it a thorn:
More than soul's pain what hurt can make us sadder?
And yet of this immortal things are born.

I.
Night and morning were at meeting
Over Waterloo;
Cocks had sung their earliest greeting;
Faint and low they crew,
For no paly beam yet shone
On the heights of Mount Saint John;
Tempest-clouds prolonged the sway
Of timeless darkness over day;
Whirlwind, thunder-clap, and shower
Marked it a predestined hour.
Broad and frequent through the night
Flashed the sheets of levin-light:
Muskets, glancing lightnings back,
Showed the dreary bivouac
Where the soldier lay,
Chill and stiff, and drenched with rain,
Wishing dawn of morn again,
Though death should come with day.

II.
'Tis at such a tide and hour
Wizard, witch, and fiend have power,
And ghastly forms through mist and shower
Gleam on the gifted ken;
And then the aff...

Oh, gallant was our galley from her carven steering-wheel
To her figurehead of silver and her beak of hammered steel.
The leg-bar chafed the ankle and we gasped for cooler air,
But no galley on the waters with our galley could compare!

Our bulkheads bulged with cotton and our masts were stepped in gold,
We ran a mighty merchandise of niggers in the hold;
The white foam spun behind us, and the black shark swam below,
As we gripped the kicking sweep-head and we made the galley go.

It was merry in the galley, for we revelled now and then,
If they wore us down like cattle, faith, we fought and loved like men!
As we snatched her through the water, so we snatched a minute's bliss,
And the mutter of the dying never spoiled the lover's kiss.

Our women and our children t...

The Angel of the night when night was gone
High upon Heaven's ramparts, cried, "The Dawn!"

And wheeling worlds grew radiant with the one
And undiminished glory of the sun.

And Angel, Seraph, Saint and Cherubim
Raised to the morning their exultant hymn.

All Heaven thrilled anew to look upon
The great recurring miracle of dawn.

And in the little worlds beneath them--men
Rose, yawned and ate and turned to toil again.

My tailor's shears I scorned then;
    I strove for something higher:
To edit news--live by the pen--
    The pen that shall not tire!

The pen, that was my humble slave,
    Has now enslaved its master;
And fast as flows its Midas-wave,
    My rebel tears flow faster.

The world I clad once, tailor-hired,
    Whilst I in tatters quaked,
Today, you see me well attired,
    Who lets the world go naked.

What human soul, how'er oppressed,
    Can feel my chained soul's yearning!
A monster woe lies in my breast,
    In voiceless anguish burning.

Oh, swing ajar the shop door, do!
    I'll bear as ne'er I bore it.
My blood!... you sweatshop leeches, you!...
    Now less I'll blame you for it.

I'll stitch as ne'er in fo...

Oh, this is a song of the old lights, that came to my heart like a hymn;
And this is a song for the old lights, the lights that we thought grew dim,
That came to my heart to comfort me, and I pass it along to you;
And here is a hand to the good old friend who turns up as good as new.

And this is a song for the camp-fire out west where the stars shine bright,
Oh, this is a song for the camp-fire where the old mates yarn to-night;
Where the old mates yarn of the old days, and their numbers are all too few,
And this is a song for the good old times that will turn up as good as new.

Oh, this is a song for the old foe, we have both grown wiser now,
And this is a song for the old foe, and we’re sorry we had that row;
And this is a song for the old love, the love that we thought untru...

Waters glisten and sunbeams quiver,
    The wind blows fresh and free.
Take my boat to your breast, O River!
    Carry me out to Sea!

This land is laden with fruit and grain,
    With never a place left free for flowers,
A fruitful mother; but I am fain
    For brides in their early bridal hours.

Take my boat to your breast, O River!
    Carry me out to Sea!

The Sea, beloved by a thousand ships,
    Is maiden ever, and fresh and free.
Ah, for the touch of her cool green lips,
    Carry me out to Sea!

Take my boat to your breast, dear River,
    And carry it out to Sea!

Sadly, O, sadly, the sweet bells of Baddeley
Played in their steeples when Robin was gone,
            Killed by an arrow,
            Shot by Cock Sparrow,
Out of a Maybush, fragrant and wan.

Grievedly, grievedly, tolled distant Shieveley,
When the Dwarfs laid poor Snow-white asleep on the hill,
            Drowsed by an apple,
            The Queen, sly and subtle,
Had cut with her knife on the blossomy sill.

To me all beauty that I see
Is melody made visible:
An earth-translated state, may be,
Of music heard in Heaven or Hell.

Out of some love-impassioned strain
Of saints, the rose evolved its bloom;
And, dreaming of it here again,
Perhaps re-lives it as perfume.

Out of some chant that demons sing
Of hate and pain, the sunset grew;
And, haply, still remembering,
Re-lives it here as some wild hue.

“Poison of asps is under our lips”?
Why do you seek us, then?
Breaking our knotted fellowships
With your noisy-footed men?

Time and time over we let them go;
Hearing and slipping aside;
Until they followed and troubled us—so
We struck back, and they died.

“Poison of asps is under our lips”?
Why do you wrench them apart?
To learn how the venom makes and drips
And works its way to the heart?

It is unjust that when we have done
All that a serpent should,
You gather our poisons, one by one,
And thin them out to your good.

“Poison of asps is under our lips.”
That is your answer? No!
Because we hissed at Adam’s eclipse
Is the reason you hate us so.

    Burnie bee, burnie bee,
    Tell me when your wedding be?
    If it be to-morrow day,
    Take your wings and fly away.

The saintly Youth has ceased to rule, discrowned
By unrelenting Death. O People keen
For change, to whom the new looks always green!
Rejoicing did they cast upon the ground
Their Gods of wood and stone; and, at the sound
Of counter-proclamation, now are seen,
(Proud triumph is it for a sullen Queen!)
Lifting them up, the worship to confound
Of the Most High. Again do they invoke
The Creature, to the Creature glory give;
Again with frankincense the altars smoke
Like those the Heathen served; and mass is sung;
And prayer, man's rational prerogative,
Runs through blind channels of an unknown tongue.

Little Bo-peep has lost her Sheep,
(It's a secret to you I'm confiding.)
At the end of the shelf,
Where she put them herself,
Her Baa-lambs are safely hiding.

If you put a thing carefully, safely away,
You're sure not to find it when wanted next day.

(To Ellen Terry)

In the lone tent, waiting for victory,
She stands with eyes marred by the mists of pain,
Like some wan lily overdrenched with rain:
The clamorous clang of arms, the ensanguined sky,
War's ruin, and the wreck of chivalry
To her proud soul no common fear can bring:
Bravely she tarrieth for her Lord the King,
Her soul a-flame with passionate ecstasy.
O Hair of Gold! O Crimson Lips! O Face
Made for the luring and the love of man!
With thee I do forget the toil and stress,
The loveless road that knows no resting place,
Time's straitened pulse, the soul's dread weariness,
My freedom, and my life republican!

I.

There was a man rode into town one day,
Barefooted, hatless, and without a coat.
It was the dead of winter. Round his throat
Were marks of violence: bits and wisps of hay
Bristled his beard and hair. From far away
We saw him coming: desolate and remote
And wild his gaze, that of no man took note,
Or seeming note; and nothing would he say.
But when he'd had a drink, then drunk some more,
He told us he had sold tobacco; see?
And all was lost. At that he caught his breath.
Last night a knock came at his cabin-door.
His son, who answered, was shot dead. And he
Was caught and chok'd and almost beat to death.

II.

They said he'd sold tobacco; and he knew
They ought to kill him, burn his house and barn,
And would unless he gave them (thi...

My baby slept--how calm his rest,
As o'er his handsome face a smile
Like that of angel flitted, while
He lay so still upon my breast!

My baby slept--his baby head
Lay all unkiss'd 'neath pall and shroud:
I did not weep or cry aloud--
I only wished I, too, were dead!

My baby sleeps--a tiny mound,
All covered by the little flowers,
Woos me in all my waking hours,
Down in the quiet burying-ground.

And when I sleep I seem to be
With baby in another land--
I take his little baby hand--
He smiles and sings sweet songs to me.

Sleep on, O baby, while I keep
My vigils till this day be passed!
Then shall I, too, lie down at last,
And with my baby darling sleep.