On a golden dawn in the dawn sublime
Of years ere the stars had ceased to sing,
Beautiful out of the sea-deeps cold
Aphrodite arose, the Flower of Time,
That, dear till the day of her blossoming,
The old, old Sea had borne in his heart.
Around her worshipping waves did part
Tremulous, glowing in rose and gold.

And the birds broke forth into singing sweet,
And flowers born scentless breathed perfume:
Softly she smiled upon Man forlorn,
And the music of love in his wild heart beat,
And down to the pit went his gods of gloom,
And earth grew bright and fair as a bride,
And folk in star-worlds wondering cried,
“Lo in the skies a new star is born!”

O Beloved, thus on my small world you
Rose, flushing it all with rosy flame!
Changing sad thought...

I like a church; I like a cowl;
I love a prophet of the soul;
And on my heart monastic aisles
Fall like sweet strains, or pensive smiles
Yet not for all his faith can see
Would I that cowlèd churchman be.

Why should the vest on him allure,
Which I could not on me endure?

Not from a vain or shallow thought
His awful Jove young Phidias brought;
Never from lips of cunning fell
The thrilling Delphic oracle;
Out from the heart of nature rolled
The burdens of the Bible old;
The litanies of nations came,
Like the volcano's tongue of flame,
Up from the burning core below,--
The canticles of love and woe:
The hand that rounded Peter's dome
And groined the aisles of Christian Rome
Wrought in a sad sincerity;
Himself from God he could...

    Well satisfied with all his own, he stands
    Holding a trembling balance in his hands;
    On one scale - wealth and ease, men's praises, too -
    Whatever charms the soul, and keeps it true.
    But on the other scale - lo - the foul street
    Where pallid children play, where poor folk greet,
    And crowded houses dirty, dimly lit,
    On whose dull walls all misery is writ,
    Houses wherein the herded cannot fight
    The ambushed evil lurking day and night.
    Has he - contented one - who counts his gain,
    Balanced the cost - the wretchedness and pain
    Of those who help him hoard his heap of gold?
    Ah, human life may be too dearly sold!
    For see, the one scale weighs the other down.
    His gold, his ease, his honors - by Heaven's frown<...

Two little children toddled up to me,
Their faces fair as faces well could be,
Roses and snow, but pale the roses were
Like flowers fainting for the lack of air.
Sad was the tender study which I gave
The winning creatures, both so sweet and grave,
Two beautiful young Saxons, scarce knee high!
As like as peas! Two Lilliputian men!
Immortal ere they knew it by the pen
Which waketh laughter or bedews the eye.
God bless you, little people! May His hand
Hold you within its hollow all your days!
Smooth all the rugged places, and your ways
Make long and pleasant in a fruitful land!

"Emam tua carmina sanus?"--MARTIAL.

F.    OF H. I want a verse. It gives you little pains;--
You just sit down, and draw upon your brains.

Come, now, be amiable.

R.    To hear you talk,
You'd make it easier to fly than walk.
You seem to think that rhyming is a thing
You can produce if you but touch a spring;

That fancy, fervour, passion--and what not,

Are just a case of "penny in the slot."
You should reflect that no evasive bird
Is half so shy as is your fittest word;
And even similes, however wrought,
Like hares, before you cook them, must be caught;--

Impromptus, too, require elaboration,
And (unlike eggs) grow fresh by incubation;
Then,--as to epigrams,..

F. of H.    Nay, nay, I've done.
I did but make pe...

Don’t mind me, I beg you, old fellow, I’ll do very well here alone;
You must not be kept from your “German” because I’ve dropped in like a stone.
Leave all ceremony behind you, leave all thought of aught but yourself;
And leave, if you like, the Madeira, and a dozen cigars on the shelf.

As for me, you will say to your hostess well, I scarcely need give you a cue.
Chant my praise! All will list to Apollo, though Mercury pipe to a few.
Say just what you please, my dear boy; there’s more eloquence lies in youth’s rash
Outspoken heart-impulse than ever growled under this grizzling mustache.

Go, don the dress coat of our tyrant, youth’s panoplied armor for fight,
And tie the white neckcloth that rumples, like pleasure, and lasts but a night;
And pray the Nine Gods to avert you what ...

Pain can go guised as joy, dross pass for gold,
    Vulgarity can masquerade as wit,
Or spite wear friendship's garments; but I hold
    That passionate feeling has no counterfeit.
Chief jewel from Jove's crown 'twas sent men, lent
For inspiration and for sacrament.

Jove never could have made the Universe
    Had he not glowed with passion's sacred fire;
Though man oft turns the blessing to a curse,
    And burns himself on his own funeral pyre,
Though scarred the soul be where its light burns bright,
Yet where it is not, neither is there might.

Yea, it was set in Jove's resplendent crown
    When he created worlds; that done, why, hence,
He cast the priceless, awful jewel down
    To be man's punishment and recompense.
And that is how he sees and ...

The Fir-tree looked down on the Bramble.
"Poor thing, only able to scramble
About on the ground."
Just then an axe' sound
Made the Fir wish himself but a Bramble.

Pride Of Place Has Its Disadvantages

Spirit of Song! whose whispers
Delight my pensive brain,
When will the perfect harmony
Ring through my feeble strain?

When will the rills of melody
Be widened to a stream!
When will the bright and gladsome Day
Succeed this morning dream?

"Mortal," the spirit whispered,
"If thou wouldst truly win
The race thou art pursuing,
Heed well the voice within:

And it shall gently teach thee
To read thy heart, and know
No human strain is perfect,
However sweet it flow.

And if thou readest truly,
As surely shalt thou find
That truths, like rills, though diverse,
Are choicest in their kind.

The souls of Poet-Dreamers
Touch heaven on their way;
With the light of Song to guide them
It should be always Day."

    So soon he fell, the world will never know
    What possibilities within him lay,
What hopes irradiated his young life,
With high ambition and with ardor rife;
    But ah! the speedy summons came, and so
        He passed away.

    So soon he fell, there lie unfinished plans
    By others misapplied, misunderstood;
And doors are barred that wait the master-key -
That wait his magic Open Sesame! -
    To that assertive power that commands
        The multitude.

    Too soon he fell! Was he not born to prove
    What manhood and integrity might be -
How one from all base elements apart
Might walk serene, in purity of heart,
    His face the bright transparency of love
        And sympathy?

    The student ranks are closed, there i...

Blind multitudes that jar confusedly
At strife, earth's children, will ye never rest
From toils made hateful here, and dawns distressed
With ravelling self-engendered misery?
And will ye never know, till sleep shall see
Your graves, how dreadful and how dark indeed
Are pride, self-will, and blind-voiced anger, greed,
And malice with its subtle cruelty?

How beautiful is gentleness, whose face
Like April sunshine, or the summer rain,
Swells everywhere the buds of generous thought?
So easy, and so sweet it is; its grace
Smoothes out so soon the tangled knots of pain.
Can ye not learn it? will ye not be taught?

I.

When dusk falls cool as a rained-on rose,
And a tawny tower the twilight shows,
With the crescent moon, the silver moon, the curved new moon in a space that glows,
A turret window that grows a-light;
There is a path that my Fancy knows,
A glimmering, shimmering path of night,
That far as the Land of Faery goes.

II.

And I follow the path, as Fancy leads,
Over the mountains, into the meads,
Where the firefly cities, the glowworm cities, the fairy cities are strung like beads,
Each city a twinkling star:
And I live a life of valorous deeds,
And march with the Fairy King to war,
And ride with his knights on milk-white steeds.

III.

Or it's there in the whirl of their life I sit,
Or dance in their houses with starlight lit,...

Art thou already weary of the way?
    Thou who hast yet but half the way gone o'er:
    Get up, and lift thy burthen: lo, before
Thy feet the road goes stretching far away.
If thou already faint, who hast but come
Through half thy pilgrimage, with fellows gay,
Love, youth, and hope, under the rosy bloom
And temperate airs, of early breaking day;
Look yonder, how the heavens stoop and gloom,
There cease the trees to shade, the flowers to spring,
And the angels leave thee; what wilt thou become
Through yon drear stretch of dismal wandering,
Lonely and dark?    I shall take courage, friend,
For comes not every step more near the end?

(Suggested by a Fra Angelico Angel)


    Angel of Thought, meseems God winged thee so,
    And crowned thine head with passion fine as flame,
    And made thy lifted face too pure for shame,
    With eyes and brow a mirror to His glow;--
    And gave thy lips a golden trump, that, though
    Long years have passed since other angels came
    To work the mighty wonders of His name,--
    In God's own name and man's, thyself shalt go
    Forever on strong pinions to and fro,
    And round the earth reverberating blow
    The mute, world-shaking music of the mind;
    That thou might'st make as naught all space and time,
    And thrill in mystic oneness through mankind,
    Yet dwell in each, inviolate, sublime.

Ethel Allen Murphy

How rich that forehead's calm expanse!
How bright that heaven-directed glance!
Waft her to glory, winged Powers,
Ere sorrow be renewed,
And intercourse with mortal hours
Bring back a humbler mood!
So looked Cecilia when she drew
An Angel from his station;
So looked; not ceasing to pursue
Her tuneful adoration!
But hand and voice alike are still;
No sound 'here' sweeps away the will
That gave it birth: in service meek
One upright arm sustains the cheek,
And one across the bosom lies
That rose, and now forgets to rise,
Subdued by breathless harmonies
Of meditative feeling;
Mute strains from worlds beyond the skies,
Through the pure light of female eyes,
Their sanctity revealing!

To know just how he suffered would be dear;
To know if any human eyes were near
To whom he could intrust his wavering gaze,
Until it settled firm on Paradise.

To know if he was patient, part content,
Was dying as he thought, or different;
Was it a pleasant day to die,
And did the sunshine face his way?

What was his furthest mind, of home, or God,
Or what the distant say
At news that he ceased human nature
On such a day?

And wishes, had he any?
Just his sigh, accented,
Had been legible to me.
And was he confident until
Ill fluttered out in everlasting well?

And if he spoke, what name was best,
What first,
What one broke off with
At the drowsiest?

Was he afraid, or tranquil?
Might he know
How consc...

Music I love, but never strain
Could kindle raptures so divine,
So grief assuage, so conquer pain,
And rouse this pensive heart of mine,
As that we hear on Christmas morn,
Upon the wintry breezes borne.

Though Darkness still her empire keep,
And hours must pass, ere morning break;
From troubled dreams, or slumbers deep,
That music kindly bids us wake:
It calls us, with an angel's voice,
To wake, and worship, and rejoice;

To greet with joy the glorious morn,
Which angels welcomed long ago,
When our redeeming Lord was born,
To bring the light of Heaven below;
The Powers of Darkness to dispel,
And rescue Earth from Death and Hell.

While listening to that sacred strain,
My raptured spirit soars on high;
I seem to hear those so...

Alas, 'tis cold and dark!
The wind all night hath sung a wintry tune!
Hail from black clouds that swallowed up the moon
Beat, beat against my bark.

Oh! why delays the spring?
Not yet the sap moves in my frozen veins;
Through all my stiffened roots creep numbing pains,
That I can hardly cling.

The sun shone yester-morn;
I felt the glow down every fibre float,
And thought I heard a thrush's piping note
Of dim dream-gladness born.

Then, on the salt gale driven,
The streaming cloud hissed through my outstretched arms,
Tossed me about in slanting snowy swarms,
And blotted out the heaven.

All night I brood and choose
Among past joys. Oh, for the breath of June!
The feathery light-flakes quavering from the moon
The slow baptizin...