Born with the sun, the fair daughters of time,
We silently lead to a lovelier clime,
Where the day is undimmed by the shadows of night,
But eternally beams from the fountain of light;
Where the sorrows of time and its cares are unknown
To the beautiful forms that encircle the throne
Of the mighty Creator! the First and the Last!
Who the wonderful frame of the universe cast,
And composed every link of the mystical chain
Of minutes, and hours, which are numbered in vain
By the children of dust, in their frantic career,
When their moments are wasted unthinkingly here,
Lavished on earth which in mercy were given
That men might prepare for the joys of heaven!--

Tune - "Roy's Wife."


I.

            Canst thou leave me thus, my Katy?
            Canst thou leave me thus, my Katy?
            Well thou know'st my aching heart -
            And canst thou leave me thus for pity?
    In this thy plighted, fond regard,
        Thus cruelly to part, my Katy?
    Is this thy faithful swain's reward -
        An aching, broken heart, my Katy!

II.

    Farewell! and ne'er such sorrows tear
        That fickle heart of thine, my Katy!
    Thou may'st find those will love thee dear -
        But not a love like mine, my Katy!
            Canst thou leave me thus, my Katy?
            Canst thou leave me thus, my Katy?
            Well thou know'st my aching heart -
            And can...

    I knew her, why of course. And you want me?
    What can I say? I don't know how she died.
    I know what people say. But if you want
    To hear about her, as I knew the girl,
    Sit down a minute. Wait, a customer!...
    It was a fellow with a bill, these fellows
    Who come for money make me smile. Good God!
    Where shall I get the money, when pianos,
    Such as I make, are devilish hard to sell?
    Now listen to this tune! Dumm, dumm, dumm, dumm,
    How's that for quality, sweet clear and pure?
    Now listen to these chords I take from Bach!
    Oh no, I never played much, just for self.
    Well, you might say my passion for this work
    Is due to this: I pick the wire strings,
    The spruce boards and all that for instruments
    That sui...

Evening has thrown her hushing garment round
This little world; no harsh or jarring sound
Disturbs my reverie. The room is dark,
And kneeling at the window I can mark
Each light and shadow of the scene below.
The placid glistening pools, the streams that flow
Through the red earth, left by the hurrying tide;
The ridge of mountain on the farther side
Shewing more black for many twinkling lights
That come and go about the gathering heights.
Below me lie great wharves, dreary and dim,
And lumber houses crowding close and grim
Like giant shadowed guardians of the port,
With towering chimneys outlined tall and swart
Against the silver pools. Two figures pace
The wharf in ghostly silence, face from face.
O'er the black line of mountain, silver-clear
In faint ro...

i(A certain poet in outlandish clothes)
i(Gathered a crowd in some Byzantine lane,)
i(Talked1 of his country and its people, sang)
i(To some stringed instrument none there had seen,)
i(A wall behind his back, over his head)
i(A latticed window. His glance went up at time)
i(As though one listened there, and his voice sank)
i(Or let its meaning mix into the strings.)

MAEVE the great queen was pacing to and fro,
Between the walls covered with beaten bronze,
In her high house at Cruachan; the long hearth,
Flickering with ash and hazel, but half showed
Where the tired horse-boys lay upon the rushes,
Or on the benches underneath the walls,
In comfortable sleep; all living slept
But that great queen, who more than half the night
Had paced from door to fire and...

In years to come, will you forget,
Dear girl, how often we have met?
And I have gazed into your eyes
And there beheld no sad regret
To cloud the gladness of their skies,
While in your heart--unheard as yet--
Love slept, oblivious of my sighs?--
In years to come, will you forget?

Ah, me! I only pray that when,
In other days, some man of men
Has taught those eyes to laugh and weep
With joy and sorrow, hearts must ken
When love awakens in their deep,--
I only pray some memory then,
Or sad or sweet, you still will keep
Of me and love that might have been.

Oh, for a soul that fulfills
music like that of a bird!
thrilling with rapture the hills,
heedless if any one heard.

Or, like the flower that blooms
lone in the midst of the trees,
filling the woods with perfumes,
careless if any one sees.

Or, like the wandering wind,
over the meadows that swings,
bringing wild sweets to mankind,
knowing not that which it brings.

Oh, for a way to impart!.
beauty, no matter how hard!
like unto nature, whose art
never once dreams of reward.

Pale hands I love beside the Shalimar,
    Where are you now?    Who lies beneath your spell?
Whom do you lead on Rapture's roadway, far,
    Before you agonise them in farewell?

Oh, pale dispensers of my Joys and Pains,
    Holding the doors of Heaven and of Hell,
How the hot blood rushed wildly through the veins
    Beneath your touch, until you waved farewell.

Pale hands, pink tipped, like Lotus buds that float
    On those cool waters where we used to dwell,
I would have rather felt you round my throat,
    Crushing out life, than waving me farewell!

Life, like a romping schoolboy, full of glee,
    Doth bear us on his shoulders for a time.
    There is no path too steep for him to climb,
With strong, lithe limbs, as agile and as free,
As some young roe, he speeds by vale and sea,
    By flowery mead, by mountain peak sublime,
    And all the world seems motion set to rhyme,
Till, tired out, he cries, "Now carry me!"
    In vain we murmur, "Come," Life says, "fair play!"
And seizes on us. God! he goads us so!
    He does not let us sit down all the day.
At each new step we feel the burden grow,
Till our bent backs seem breaking as we go,
    Watching for Death to meet us on the way.

Moments the mightiest pass uncalendared,
And when the Absolute
In backward Time outgave the deedful word
Whereby all life is stirred:
"Let one be born and throned whose mould shall constitute
The norm of every royal-reckoned attribute,"
No mortal knew or heard.
But in due days the purposed Life outshone -
Serene, sagacious, free;
- Her waxing seasons bloomed with deeds well done,
And the world's heart was won . . .
Yet may the deed of hers most bright in eyes to be
Lie hid from ours - as in the All-One's thought lay she -
Till ripening years have run.

SUNDAY NIGHT,
27th January 1901.

If a pleasant lawn there grow
    By the showers caressed,
Where in all the seasons blow
    Flowers gaily dressed,
Where by handfuls one may win
Lilies, woodbine, jessamine,
I will make a path therein
    For thy feet to rest.

If there live in honour's sway
    An all-loving breast
Whose devotion cannot stray,
    Never gloom-oppressed--
If this noble breast still wake
For a worthy motive's sake,
There a pillow I will make
    For thy head to rest.

If there be a dream of love,
    Dream that God has blest,
Yielding daily treasure-trove
    Of delightful zest,
With the scent of roses filled,
With the soul's communion thrilled,
There, oh! there a nest I'll build
    For thy heart to rest.

The summer warmth has left the sky,
The summer songs have died away;
And, withered, in the footpaths lie
The fallen leaves, but yesterday
With ruby and with topaz gay.

The grass is browning on the hills;
No pale, belated flowers recall
The astral fringes of the rills,
And drearily the dead vines fall,
Frost-blackened, from the roadside wall.

Yet through the gray and sombre wood,
Against the dusk of fir and pine,
Last of their floral sisterhood,
The hazel’s yellow blossoms shine,
The tawny gold of Afric’s mine!

Small beauty hath my unsung flower,
For spring to own or summer hail;
But, in the season’s saddest hour,
To skies that weep and winds that wail
Its glad surprisals never fail.

O days grown cold! O life grown ol...

Written In The Danville (KY.) Cemetery.


I.

Within thy hallowed precincts on this sweet autumnal day,
    We're wandering 'neath the cedar and the pine,
Where rests the sacred dust of loved ones passed away,
    And bleeding hearts a melancholy pleasure find.


II.

In memory's faithful mirror here once more we trace
    Familiar forms of those in life we knew,
And see again the shadowy outlines of some face
    That, living, beamed with kindness--ever true.


III.

Old age, and manhood's prime, and helpless infancy
    Have dotted o'er with many an emerald mound,
And marked each stone with mournful tracery
    Which stands within this consecrated ground.


IV.

And there the marble shaft its s...

How hushed and still are earth and air,
    How languid 'neath the sun's fierce ray -
Drooping and faint - the flowrets fair,
    On this hot, sultry, summer day!
Vainly I watch the streamlet blue
    That near my cottage home doth pass,
No ripple stirs its azure hue,
    Still - waveless, as a sheet of glass

And if I woo from yonder trees
    A breath of coolness for my brow,
They've none to give - not e'en a breeze
    Rustles amid their foliage now;
Yes, hush! there stirred a leaf, but no,
    Tis only some poor, panting bird,
With silenced note, head drooping low,
    That 'mid the shady green boughs stirred.

Oh dear! how sultry! vain to seek
    To while the time with pleasant book,
Soon drowsy head and crimsoned cheek
    Obliv...

When I am tired of earnest men,
    Intense and keen and sharp and clever,
Pursuing fame with brush or pen
    Or counting metal disks forever,
Then from the halls of Shadowland
    Beyond the trackless purple sea
Old Martin's ghost comes back to stand
    Beside my desk and talk to me.

Still on his delicate pale face
    A quizzical thin smile is showing,
His cheeks are wrinkled like fine lace,
    His kind blue eyes are gay and glowing.
He wears a brilliant-hued cravat,
    A suit to match his soft grey hair,
A rakish stick, a knowing hat,
    A manner blithe and debonair.

How good that he who always knew
    That being lovely was a duty,
Should have gold halls to wander through
    And should himself inhabit beauty.
How like ...

Unmoor the skiff, - unmoor the skiff, -
    The night wind's sigh is on the air,
And o'er the highest Alpine cliff,
    The pale moon rises, broad and clear.
The murmuring waves are tranquil now,
    And on their breast each twinkling star
With which Night gems her dusky brow,
    Flings its mild radiance from afar.

Put off upon the deep blue sea,
    And leave the banquet and the ball;
For solitude, when shared with thee,
    Is dearer than the carnival.
And in my heart are thoughts of love,
    Such thoughts as lips should only breathe,
When the bright stars keep watch above,
    And the calm waters sleep beneath!

The tale I have for thee, perchance,
    May to thine eye anew impart
The long-lost gladness of its glance,
    And soo...

(DEDICATED TO HERMAN ANKER AND M. ANKER ON THE OCCASION OF THEIR SILVER-WEDDING, SEPTEMBER 15, 1888)
(See Note 75)

    Land that shall be
Thither, when thwarted our longings, we sail, -
Sighs to the clouds, that we breathe when we fail,
Form a mirage of rich valley and mead
    Over our need, -
Visions revealing the future until
    Faith shall fulfil, -
    The land that shall be.

    Land that shall be!
All of our labor to sow seeds of gain
Grows in the ages when our names shall wane,
Gathered with others', 't is stored in the true
    Will to renew.
This then shall carry our labor within,
    Safely within
    The land that shall be.

    Land that shall be!
Tears that are shed over evil's foul blight,
Blood-sweat...

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of being and ideal grace.
I love thee to the level of every day’s
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.