Into the rose gold westland, its yellow prairies roll,
World of the bison's freedom, home of the Indian's soul.
Roll out, O seas! in sunlight bathed,
Your plains wind-tossed, and grass enswathed.

Farther than vision ranges, farther than eagles fly,
Stretches the land of beauty, arches the perfect sky,
Hemm'd through the purple mists afar
By peaks that gleam like star on star.

Fringing the prairie billows, fretting horizon's line,
Darkly green are slumb'ring wildernesses of pine,
Sleeping until the zephyrs throng
To kiss their silence into song.

Whispers freighted with odour swinging into the air,
Russet needles as censers swing to an altar, where
The angels' songs are less divine
Than duo sung twixt breeze and pine.

Laughing into the fo...

[1]

'Tis use that constitutes possession.
I ask that sort of men, whose passion
It is to get and never spend,
Of all their toil what is the end?
What they enjoy of all their labours
Which do not equally their neighbours?
Throughout this upper mortal strife,
The miser leads a beggar's life.
Old Aesop's man of hidden treasure
May serve the case to demonstrate.
He had a great estate,
But chose a second life to wait
Ere he began to taste his pleasure.
This man, whom gold so little bless'd,
Was not possessor, but possess'd.
His cash he buried under ground,
Where only might his heart be found;
It being, then, his sole delight
To ponder of it day and night,
And consecrate his rusty pelf,
A sacred offering, to himself.
In...

(November 2, 1899)



I

O it was sad enough, weak enough, mad enough -
Light in their loving as soldiers can be -
First to risk choosing them, leave alone losing them
Now, in far battle, beyond the South Sea! . . .

II

- Rain came down drenchingly; but we unblenchingly
Trudged on beside them through mirk and through mire,
They stepping steadily - only too readily! -
Scarce as if stepping brought parting-time nigher.

III

Great guns were gleaming there, living things seeming there,
Cloaked in their tar-cloths, upmouthed to the night;
Wheels wet and yellow from axle to felloe,
Throats blank of sound, but prophetic to sight.

IV

Gas-glimmers drearily, blearily, eerily
Lit our pale faces outstretched ...

    As Jesus went into Jericho town,
    Twas darkness all, from toe to crown,
        About blind Bartimeus.
    He said, "My eyes are more than dim,
    They are no use for seeing him:
        No matter--he can see us!"

    "Cry out, cry out, blind brother--cry;
    Let not salvation dear go by.--
        Have mercy, Son of David."
    Though they were blind, they both could hear--
    They heard, and cried, and he drew near;
        And so the blind were saved.

    O Jesus Christ, I am very blind;
    Nothing comes through into my mind;
        'Tis well I am not dumb:
    Although I see thee not, nor hear,
    I cry because thou may'st be near:
        O son of Mary, come!

    I hear it through the all things blind:
    Is ...

Smile a little, smile a little,
    As you go along,
Not alone when life is pleasant,
    But when things go wrong.
Care delights to see you frowning,
    Loves to hear you sigh;
Turn a smiling face upon her -
    Quick the dame will fly.

Smile a little, smile a little,
    All along the road;
Every life must have its burden,
    Every heart its load.
Why sit down in gloom and darkness
    With your grief to sup?
As you drink Fate's bitter tonic,
    Smile across the cup.

Smile upon the troubled pilgrims
    Whom you pass and meet;
Frowns are thorns, and smiles are blossoms
    Oft for weary feet.
Do not make the way seem harder
    By a sullen face;
Smile a little, smile a little,
    Brighten up the place.
...

Exquisite mosses, so lovely and green,
Covering the rocks with emerald sheen;
Hiding the scars which convulsions have made;
Blessing the mound where our angel was laid;
Forming a carpet on which we may tread;
Clothing with beauty the rotten and dead;
Sheathing from storm-blasts the young forest tree--
Beautiful mosses, examples for me.

Trod under foot by all kinds of men;
Gracing the mountain or hid in the fen;
Never adorning the brow of the fair;
Seldom deemed worthy some corner to share
In the bouquets that are cast in the way
Princely feet tread on reception's proud day;
The glory of roses do not attain;
Beautiful mosses, ye grow not in vain.

Answer the end by your Maker designed.
Humble your bloom, but your mission is kind.
Those will...

Oh, what was it he meant
By his question as he went?
"I am making a loom,
'T will be up in April's bloom;
If you think it may be,
Spin for me!"

Oh, what shall I believe?
Does he think himself to weave?
And the yarn that I spin,
Lo, he thinks to weave it in?
And so soon as the Spring
Flowers shall bring?

And he laughed when he'd done;
Oh, he is so full of fun.
Dare I trust all my skein
To so young and wild a swain? -
May God help to bind in
All I spin!

Oh, praise an' tanks! De Lord he come
To set de people free;
An' massa tink it day ob doom,
An' we ob jubilee.
De Lord dat heap de Red Sea waves
He jus' as 'trong as den;
He say de word: we las' night slaves;
To-day, de Lord's freemen.
De yam will grow, de cotton blow,
We'll hab de rice an' corn;
Oh nebber you fear, if nebber you hear
De driver blow his horn!
Ole massa on he trabbels gone;
He leaf de land behind:
De Lord's breff blow him furder on,
Like corn-shuck in de wind.
We own de hoe, we own de plough,
We own de hands dat hold;
We sell de pig, we sell de cow,
But nebber chile be sold.
De yam will grow, de cotton blow,
We'll hab de rice an' corn;
Oh nebber you fear, if nebber you hear
De driver blow his horn!
We pra...

I' vo piangendo i miei passati tempi.

HE HUMBLY CONFESSES THE ERRORS OF HIS PAST LIFE, AND PRAYS FOR DIVINE GRACE.


    Weeping, I still revolve the seasons flown
In vain idolatry of mortal things;
Not soaring heavenward; though my soul had wings
Which might, perchance, a glorious flight have shown.
O Thou, discerner of the guilt I own,
Giver of life immortal, King of Kings,
Heal Thou the wounded heart which conscience stings:
It looks for refuge only to thy throne.
Thus, although life was warfare and unrest,
Be death the haven of peace; and if my day
Was vain--yet make the parting moment blest!
Through this brief remnant of my earthly way,
And in death's billows, be thy hand confess'd;
Full well Thou know'st, this hope is all my stay!
...

    There dwelt a widow learned and devout,
    Behind our hamlet on the eastern hill.
    Three sons she had, who went to find the world.
    They promised to return, but wandered still.
    The cities used them well, they won their way,
    Rich gifts they sent, to still their mother's sighs.
    Worn out with honors, and apart from her,
    They died as many a self-made exile dies.
    The mother had a hearth that would not quench,
    The deathless embers fought the creeping gloom.
    She said to us who came with wondering eyes -
    "This is a magic fire, a magic room."
    The pine burned out, but still the coals glowed on,
    Her grave grew old beneath the pear-tree shade,
    And yet her crumbling home enshrined the light.
    The neighbors peering in wer...

Driven in by Autumn's sharpening air
From half-stripped woods and pastures bare,
Brisk Robin seeks a kindlier home:
Not like a beggar is he come,
But enters as a looked-for guest,
Confiding in his ruddy breast,
As if it were a natural shield
Charged with a blazon on the field,
Due to that good and pious deed
Of which we in the Ballad read.
But pensive fancies putting by,
And wild-wood sorrows, speedily
He plays the expert ventriloquist;
And, caught by glimpses now, now missed,
Puzzles the listener with a doubt
If the soft voice he throws about
Comes from within doors or without!
Was ever such a sweet confusion,
Sustained by delicate illusion?
He's at your elbow, to your feeling
The notes are from the floor or ceiling;
And there's a rid...

Prayers and praises are those spotless two
Lambs, by the law, which God requires as due.

When I love, as some have told
Love I shall, when I am old,
O ye Graces!make me fit
For the welcoming of it!
Clean my rooms, as temples be,
To entertain that deity;
Give me words wherewith to woo,
Suppling and successful too;
Winning postures; and withal,
Manners each way musical;
Sweetness to allay my sour
And unsmooth behaviour:
For I know you have the skill
Vines to prune, though not to kill;
And of any wood ye see,
You can make a Mercury.

Carico d'anni.


Burdened with years and full of sinfulness,
        With evil custom grown inveterate,
        Both deaths I dread that close before me wait,
        Yet feed my heart on poisonous thoughts no less.

No strength I find in mine own feebleness
        To change or life or love or use or fate,
        Unless Thy heavenly guidance come, though late,
        Which only helps and stays our nothingness.

'Tis not enough, dear Lord, to make me yearn
        For that celestial home, where yet my soul
        May be new made, and not, as erst, of nought:

Nay, ere Thou strip her mortal vestment, turn
        My steps toward the steep ascent, that whole
        And pure before Thy face she may be brought.

Yes, holy be thy resting place
Wherever thou may'st lie;
The sweetest winds breathe on thy face,
The softest of the sky.

And will not guardian Angles send
Kind dreams and thoughts of love,
Though I no more may watchful bend
Thy longed repose above?

And will not heaven itself bestow
A beam of glory there
That summer's grass more green may grow,
And summer's flowers more fair?

Farewell, farewell, 'tis hard to part
Yet, loved one, it must be:
I would not rend another heart
Not even by blessing thee.

Go! We must break affection's chain,
Forget the hopes of years:
Nay, grieve not - willest thou remain
To waken wilder tears

This herald breeze with thee and me,
Roved in the dawning day:
And thou shouldest be...

Woman! experience might have told me
That all must love thee, who behold thee:
Surely experience might have taught
Thy firmest promises are nought;
But, plac'd in all thy charms before me,
All I forget, but to adore thee.
Oh memory! thou choicest blessing,
When join'd with hope, when still possessing;
But how much curst by every lover
When hope is fled, and passion's over.
Woman, that fair and fond deceiver,
How prompt are striplings to believe her!
How throbs the pulse, when first we view
The eye that rolls in glossy blue,
Or sparkles black, or mildly throws
A beam from under hazel brows!
How quick we credit every oath,
And hear her plight the willing troth!
Fondly we hope 'twill last for ay,
When, lo! she changes in a day.
This record wil...

    Father, in the dark I lay,
        Thirsting for the light,
    Helpless, but for hope alway
        In thy father-might.

    Out of darkness came the morn,
        Out of death came life,
    I, and faith, and hope, new-born,
        Out of moaning strife!

    So, one morning yet more fair,
        I shall, joyous-brave,
    Sudden breathing loftier air,
        Triumph o'er the grave.

    Though this feeble body lie
        Underneath the ground,
    Wide awake, not sleeping, I
        Shall in him be found.

    But a morn yet fairer must
        Quell this inner gloom--
    Resurrection from the dust
        Of a deeper tomb!

    Father, wake thy little child;
        Give me bread and wine
   ...

Come to the hills, the woods are green -
The heart is high when LOVE is sweet -
There is a brook that flows between
Two mossy trees where we can meet,
Where we can meet and speak unseen.

I hear you laughing in the lane -
The heart is high when LOVE is sweet -
The clover smells of sun and rain
And spreads a carpet for our feet,
Where we can sit and dream again.

Come to the woods, the dusk is here -
The heart is high when LOVE is sweet -
A bird upon the branches near
Sets music to our hearts' glad beat,
Our hearts that beat with something dear.

I hear your step; the lane is passed; -
The heart is high when LOVE is sweet -
The little stars come bright and fast,
Like happy eyes to ...