You were forever finding some new play.
So when I saw you down on hands and knees
I the meadow, busy with the new-cut hay,
Trying, I thought, to set it up on end,
I went to show you how to make it stay,
If that was your idea, against the breeze,
And, if you asked me, even help pretend
To make it root again and grow afresh.
But 'twas no make-believe with you today,
Nor was the grass itself your real concern,
Though I found your hand full of wilted fern,
Steel-bright June-grass, and blackening heads of clovers.
'Twas a nest full of young birds on the ground
The cutter-bar had just gone champing over
(Miraculously without tasking flesh)
And left defenseless to the heat and light.
You wanted to restore them to their right
Of something interposed between their...

Till I shall come again, let this suffice,
I send my salt, my sacrifice
To thee, thy lady, younglings, and as far
As to thy Genius and thy Lar;
To the worn threshold, porch, hall, parlour, kitchen,
The fat-fed smoking temple, which in
The wholesome savour of thy mighty chines,
Invites to supper him who dines:
Where laden spits, warp'd with large ribs of beef,
Not represent, but give relief
To the lank stranger and the sour swain,
Where both may feed and come again;
For no black-bearded Vigil from thy door
Beats with a button'd-staff the poor;
But from thy warm love-hatching gates, each may
Take friendly morsels, and there stay
To sun his thin-clad members, if he likes;
For thou no porter keep'st who strikes.
No comer to thy roof his guest-rite wants;...

There is a village in a southern land,
By rounded hills closed in on every hand.
The streets slope steeply to the market-square,
Long lines of white-washed houses, clean and fair,
With roofs irregular, and steps of stone
Ascending to the front of every one.
The people swarthy, idle, full of mirth,
Live mostly by the tillage of the earth.

Upon the northern hill-top, looking down,
Like some sequestered saint upon the town,
Stands the great convent.

            On a summer night,
Ten years ago, the moon with rising light
Made all the convent towers as clear as day,
While still in deepest shade the village lay.
Both light and shadow with repose were filled,
The village sounds, the convent bells were stilled.
No foot in all the streets was now asti...

"Give us Rain, Rain," said the bean and the pea,
    "Not so much Sun,
    Not so much Sun."
But the Sun smiles bravely and encouragingly,
And no rain falls and no waters run.

"Give us Peace, Peace," said the peoples oppressed,
    "Not so many Flags,
    Not so many Flags."
But the Flags fly and the Drums beat, denying rest,
And the children starve, they shiver in rags.

'Tis gone, and for ever, the light we saw breaking,
    Like Heaven's first dawn o'er the sleep of the dead--
When Man, from the slumber of ages awaking,
    Looked upward, and blest the pure ray, ere it fled.
'Tis gone, and the gleams it has left of its burning
But deepen the long night of bondage and mourning,
That dark o'er the kingdoms of earth is returning,
    And darkest of all, hapless Erin, o'er thee.

For high was thy hope, when those glories were darting
    Around thee, thro' all the gross clouds of the world;
When Truth, from her fetters indignantly starting,
    At once, like a Sun-burst, her banner unfurled.[1]
Oh! never shall earth see a moment so splendid!
Then, then--had one Hymn of Deliverance blended
The tongues of all nations--how sw...

Rare of-spring of my thoughts, my dearest Loue,
Begot by fancy on sweet hope exhortiue,
In whom all purenes with perfection stroue,
Hurt in the Embryon makes my ioyes abhortiue.
And you, my sighes, Symtomas of my woe,
The dolefull Anthems of my endelesse care,
Lyke idle Ecchoes euer answering; so,
The mournfull accents of my loues dispayre.
And thou, Conceite, the shadow of my blisse,
Declyning with the setting of my sunne,
Springing with that, and fading straight with this,
Now hast thou end, and now thou wast begun:
    Now was thy pryme, and loe! is now thy waine;
    Now wast thou borne, now in thy cradle slayne.

I stood on the Land's End, alone and still.
    Man might have been unmade, for no frail trace
    Of mortal labour startled the wild place,
And only sea-mews with their wailing shrill,
    Circled beneath me over the dark sea,
Flashing the waves with pinions snowy white,
That glimmer'd faintly in the gloomy light
    Betwixt the foaming furrows constantly.
It was a mighty cape, that proudly rose
    Above the world of waters, high and steep,
    With many a scar and fissure fathoms deep,
Upon whose ledges lodged the endless snows;
    A noble brow to a firm-founded world,
    That at the limits of its empire stood,
    Fronting the ocean in its roughest mood,
And all its fury calmly backward hurl'd.
    The Midnight Sun rose like an angry god,
Girt round...

Struggle not with thy life! - the heavy doom
    Resist not, it will bow thee like a slave:
Strive not! thou shalt not conquer; to thy tomb
    Thou shalt go crushed, and ground, though ne'er so brave.

Complain not of thy life! - for what art thou
    More than thy fellows, that thou should'st not weep?
Brave thoughts still lodge beneath a furrowed brow,
    And the way-wearied have the sweetest sleep.

Marvel not at thy life! - patience shall see
    The perfect work of wisdom to her given;
Hold fast thy soul through this high mystery,
    And it shall lead thee to the gates of heaven.

Come lassie be stirrin, for th' lark's up ith' lift,
An th' dew drops are hastin away;
An th' mist oth' hillside is beginnin to shift,
An th' flaars have all wakkened for th' day.
Tha promised to meet me beside this thorn tree,
An darlin, thi sweet face awm langing to see;
When tha arn't here ther's noa beauty for me;
Soa stir thi lass, stir thi,
Or else awst come for thi,
For tha knows what tha tell'd me last neet tha wod be.

Come lassie be stirrin, awm here all alooan;
Tha'rt sewerly net slumb'rin still;
Th' lark's finished his tune an th' dewdrops have gooan,
An th' mist's rolled away ovver th' hill.
Net a wink have aw slept sin aw left thee last neet,
Lukkin forrad to th' time when tha sed we should meet;
But it's past, an mi sweetheart is still aght...

(To J. A. C.)


Fresh from his fastnesses
Wholesome and spacious,
The north wind, the mad huntsman,
Halloos on his white hounds
Over the grey, roaring
Reaches and ridges,
The forest of ocean,
The chace of the world.
Hark to the peal
Of the pack in full cry,
As he thongs them before him
Swarming voluminous,
Weltering, wide-wallowing,
Till in a ruining
Chaos of energy,
Hurled on their quarry,
They crash into foam!

Old Indefatigable,
Time's right-hand man, the sea
Laughs as in joy
From his millions of wrinkles:
Laughs that his destiny,
Great with the greatness
Of triumphing order,
Shows as a dwarf
By the strength of his heart
And the might of his hands.

Master of masters,
O mak...

Broideries and ancient stuffs that some queen
Wore; nor gems that warriors' hilts encrusted;
Nor fresh from heroes' brows the laurels green;
Nor bright sheaves by bards of eld entrusted
To earth's great granaries--I bring not these.
Only thin, scattered blades from harvests gleaned
Erewhile I plucked, may happen thee to please.
So poor indeed, those others had demeaned
Themselves to cull; or from their strong, firm hands
Down dropped about their feet with careless laugh,
Too broken for home gathering, these strands,
Or else more useless than the idle chaff.
But I have garnered them.    Yet, lest they seem
Unworthy, and so shame Love's offering,
Amid the loose-bound sheaf stray flowers gleam.
And fairer seeming make the gift I bring,
Lilies blood-red, that lit ...

Alone in the night
On a dark hill
With pines around me
Spicy and still,

And a heaven full of stars
Over my head,
White and topaz
And misty red;

Myriads with beating
Hearts of fire
That aeons
Cannot vex or tire;

Up the dome of heaven
Like a great hill,
I watch them marching
Stately and still,
And I know that I
Am honored to be
Witness
Of so much majesty.

(TO OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES)


Strange spell of youth for age, and age for youth,
Affinity between two forms of truth! -
As if the dawn and sunset watched each other,
Like and unlike as children of one mother
And wondering at the likeness. Ardent eyes
Of young men see the prophecy arise
Of what their lives shall be when all is told;
And, in the far-off glow of years called old,
Those other eyes look back to catch a trace
Of what was once their own unshadowed grace.
But here in our dear poet both are blended -
Ripe age begun, yet golden youth not ended; -
Even as his song the willowy scent of spring
Doth blend with autumn's tender mellowing,
And mixes praise with satire, tears with fun,
In strains that ever delicately run;
So musical and wise, page...

[1]

A braggart, lover of the chase,
Had lost a dog of valued race,
And thought him in a lion's maw.
He ask'd a shepherd whom he saw,
'Pray show me, man, the robber's place,
And I'll have justice in the case.'
''Tis on this mountain side,'
The shepherd man replied.
'The tribute of a sheep I pay,
Each month, and where I please I stray.'
Out leap'd the lion as he spake,
And came that way, with agile feet.
The braggart, prompt his flight to take,
Cried, 'Jove, O grant a safe retreat!'

A danger close at hand
Of courage is the test.
It shows us who will stand -
Whose legs will run their best.

'March on! march swiftly on!' the people cry,
Let us pursue Truth, Knowledge, Liberty!
March not so fast, my friends! or you will find,
That, in your haste, you've left them all behind.

    *        *        *        *        *

One day Maria, that keen-witted Belle,
Challenged her Beau to play at Bagatelle.
'What shall we play for?' Edwin quickly cried;
"Whate'er you please;" the smiling girl replied.
'Then for a kiss, fair lady, we will play.'
He wins the game, and straight demands his pay.
"No" 'Yes' "I wont" 'You shall' "I wont be kiss'd:
I'll pay you with a check if you persist."

I

Your love was like moonlight
turning harsh things to beauty,
so that little wry souls
reflecting each other obliquely
as in cracked mirrors...
beheld in your luminous spirit
their own reflection,
transfigured as in a shining stream,
and loved you for what they are not.

You are less an image in my mind
than a luster
I see you in gleams
pale as star-light on a gray wall...
evanescent as the reflection of a white swan
shimmering in broken water.

II

(To E. S.)

You inevitable,
Unwieldy with enormous births,
Lying on your back, eyes open, sucking down stars,
Or you kissing and picking over fresh deaths...
Filth... worms... flowers...
Green and succulent pods...
Tremulous gestation
Of dark w...

In the beautiful May weather,
        Lapsing soon into June;
    On a golden, golden day
    Of the green and golden May,
        When our hearts were beating tune
        To the coming feet of June,
Walked we in the woods together.

    Silver fine
        Gleamed the ash buds through the darkness
            of the pine,
And the waters of the stream
Glance and gleam,
Like a silver-footed dream--
    Beckoning, calling,
    Flashing, falling,
Into shadows dun and brown
    Slipping down,
Calling still--Oh hear! Oh follow!
    Follow--follow!
Down through glen and ferny hollow,
Lit with patches of the sky,
Shining through the trees so high,
Hand in hand we went together,
In the golden, golden weather
        Of the...

    Alone, alone, in the twilight gray,
        In the shadows so dark and dim,
    I watch through all of the weary hours,
        And I wait with my heart for him;
    For him who'll come, when he comes at all,
        As my king and warrior bold;
    Whose form so tall is my fortress wall
        And whose heart is a chunk of gold.

    Again, again, do I dream the dreams,
        All the dreams that my young heart knew,
    And through my soul do the yearnings thrill
        As of old they were wont to do;
    I know in truth when his face I see,
        I shall fall at his shining feet,
    Where'er it be and whoever is he,
        In the light of his glances sweet.

    I wait in vain for the sounds that rise
        From the tread of his ...