Why do we grudge our sweets so to the living
    Who, God knows, find at best too much of gall,
        And then with generous, open hands kneel, giving
    Unto the dead our all?

        Why do we pierce the warm hearts, sin or sorrow,
    With idle jests, or scorn, or cruel sneers,
        And when it cannot know, on some to-morrow,
    Speak of its woe through tears?

        What do the dead care, for the tender token -
    The love, the praise, the floral offerings?
        But palpitating, living hearts are broken
    For want of just these things.

Thrice welcome here again, thou flutt'ring thing,
That gaily seek'st about the opening flower,
And opest and shutt'st thy gaudy-spangled wing
Upon its bosom in the sunny hour;
Fond grateful thoughts from thy appearance spring:
To see thee, Fly, warm me once more to sing
His universal care who hapt thee down,
And did thy winter-dwelling please to give.
That Being's smiles on me dampt winter's frown,
And snatch'd me from the storm, and bade me live.
And now again the welcome season's come,
'Tis thine and mine, in nature's grateful pride,
To thank that God who snatch'd us from the tomb,
And stood our prop, when all gave way beside.

Darlings of children and of bard,
Perfect kinds by vice unmarred,
All of worth and beauty set
Gems in Nature's cabinet;
These the fables she esteems
Reality most like to dreams.
Welcome back, you little nations,
Far-travelled in the south plantations;
Bring your music and rhythmic flight,
Your colors for our eyes' delight:
Freely nestle in our roof,
Weave your chamber weatherproof;
And your enchanting manners bring
And your autumnal gathering.
Exchange in conclave general
Greetings kind to each and all,
Conscious each of duty done
And unstainèd as the sun.

In years to come, when looking o'er
These lines I've penn'd for thee,
I trust that thou shalt ne'er have cause
To think unkind of me.

And if you have, let memory
Try hard to blunt the dart,
And tho' I may deserve the blame,
Let kindness soothe the smart.

The world was husht, the moon above
    Sailed thro' ether slowly,
When near the casement of my love,
    Thus I whispered lowly,--
"Awake, awake, how canst thou sleep?
    "The field I seek to-morrow
"Is one where man hath fame to reap,
    "And woman gleans but sorrow."

"Let battle's field be what it may.
    Thus spoke a voice replying,
"Think not thy love, while thou'rt away,
    "Will sit here idly sighing.
"No--woman's soul, if not for fame,
    "For love can brave all danger!
Then forth from out the casement came
    A plumed and armed stranger.

A stranger? No; 'twas she, the maid,
    Herself before me beaming,
With casque arrayed and falchion blade
    Beneath her girdle gleaming!
Close side by side, in freedom's fight,...

Who looked for thee, thou little song of mine?
    This winter of a silent poet's heart
    Is suddenly sweet with thee, but what thou art,
Mid-winter flower, I would I could divine.

Art thou a last one, orphan of thy line?
    Did the dead summer's last warmth foster thee?
    Or is Spring folded up unguessed in me,
And stirring out of sight,-and thou the sign?

Where shall I look-backwards or to the morrow
    For others of thy fragrance, secret child?
    Who knows if last things or if first things claim thee?

-Whether thou be the last smile of my sorrow,
    Or else a joy too sweet, a joy too wild?
    How, my December violet, shall I name thee?

Now sleeps the crimson petal, now the white;
Nor waves the cypress in the palace walk;
Nor winks the gold fin in the porphyry font:
The fire-fly wakens: waken thou with me.

Now droops the milkwhite peacock like a ghost,
And like a ghost she glimmers on to me.

Now lies the Earth all Danaë to the stars,
And all thy heart lies open unto me.

Now slides the silent meteor on, and leaves
A shining furrow, as thy thoughts in me.

Now folds the lily all her sweetness up,
And slips into the bosom of the lake:
So fold thyself, my dearest, thou, and slip
Into my bosom and be lost in me.

A bending staff I would not break,
A feeble faith I would not shake,
Nor even rashly pluck away
The error which some truth may stay,
Whose loss might leave the soul without
A shield against the shafts of doubt.

And yet, at times, when over all
A darker mystery seems to fall,
(May God forgive the child of dust,
Who seeks to know, where Faith should trust!)
I raise the questions, old and dark,
Of Uzdom's tempted patriarch,
And, speech-confounded, build again
The baffled tower of Shinar's plain.

I am: how little more I know!
Whence came I? Whither do I go?
A centred self, which feels and is;
A cry between the silences;
A shadow-birth of clouds at strife
With sunshine on the hills of life;
A shaft from Nature's quiver cast
Into...

The clouds fast gather,
    The forest-oaks roar
A maiden is sitting
    Beside the green shore,
The billows are breaking with might, with might,
And she sighs aloud in the darkling night,
Her eyelid heavy with weeping.

"My heart's dead within me,
    The world is a void;
To the wish it gives nothing,
    Each hope is destroyed.
I have tasted the fulness of bliss below
I have lived, I have loved, Thy child, oh take now,
Thou Holy One, into Thy keeping!"

"In vain is thy sorrow,
    In vain thy tears fall,
For the dead from their slumbers
    They ne'er can recall;
Yet if aught can pour comfort and balm in thy heart,
Now that love its sweet pleasures no more can impart,
Speak thy wish, and thou granted shalt find it!"

"...

Sweet summer queen, with trailing robe of green,
What spell has thou to bind the heart to thee?
Thy throne is built upon the sun-lit sea,
Where break the waves in clouds of silver sheen
And oft at dawn like some resplendent queen,
Thou sittest on the hills in majesty;
And all the flowers wake at thy decree.
But now farewell to all thy joys serene;
The autumn comes with swift-winged, silent flight,
And he will woo thee with his fiery breath;
In crimson robes and hues of flashing gold
He'll clothe thee, and thy beauty in the night
Will take a richer glow.    But wintry death
Will come and wrap thee in his fold.

Here's to Lady Nicotine!
Saint and Sorceress and Queen!
Saint, whose purple halo rings
Lift our eyes from earthly things;
Witch, whose wand of scented briar
Transmutes dead weeds to fragrant fire;
Queen, whose rod her slaves adore!
What can freedom offer more?

There was a time when in your face
    There dwelt such power, and in your smile
I know not what of magic grace;
    They held me captive for a while.

Ah, then I listened for your voice!
    Like music every word did fall,
Making the hearts of men rejoice,
    And mine rejoiced the most of all.

At sight of you, my soul took flame.
    But now, alas! the spell is fled.
Is it that you are not the same,
    Or only that my love is dead?

I know not--but last night I dreamed
    That you were walking by my side,
And sweet, as once you were, you seemed,
    And all my heart was glorified.

Your head against my shoulder lay,
    And round your waist my arm was pressed,
And as we walked a well-known way,
    Love was between us bo...

        This string upon my harp was best beloved:
        I thought I knew its secrets through and through;
        Till an old man, whose young eyes lightened blue
        'Neath his white hair, bent over me and moved
        His fingers up and down, and broke the wire
        To such a laddered music, rung on rung,
        As from the patriarch's pillow skyward sprung
        Crowded with wide-flung wings and feet of fire.

        O vibrant heart! so metely tuned and strung
        That any untaught hand can draw from thee
        One clear gold note that makes the tired years young--
        What of the time when Love had whispered me
        Where slept thy nodes, and my hand pausefully
        Gave to the dim harmonics voice and tongue?

        I shouldn't like to say, I'm sure,
            I shouldn't like to say,
        Why I think of you more, and more, and more
            As day flits after day.
        Nor why I see in the Summer skies
        Only the beauty of your sweet eyes,
            The power by which you sway
        A kingdom of hearts, that little you prize
            I shouldn't like to say.

        I shouldn't like to say, I'm sure,
            I shouldn't like to say
        Why I hear your voice, so fresh and pure,
            In the dash of the laughing spray.
        Nor why the wavelets that all the while,
        In many a diamond-glittering file,
            With truant sunbeams play,
        Should make me remember your rippling smile
            I shou...

    Here's a bottle and an honest friend!
        What wad you wish for mair, man?
    Wha kens before his life may end,
        What his share may be o' care, man?
    Then catch the moments as they fly,
        And use them as ye ought, man?
    Believe me, happiness is shy,
        And comes not ay when sought, man.

Thou, oh, thou!
Thou of the chorded shell and golden plectrum, thou
Of the dark eyes and pale pacific brow!
Music, who by the plangent waves,
Or in the echoing night of labyrinthine caves,
Or on God's mountains, lonely as the stars,
Touchest reverberant bars
Of immemorial sorrow and amaze;
Keeping regret and memory awake,
And all the immortal ache
Of love that leans upon the past's sweet days
In retrospection! now, oh, now,
Interpreter and heart-physician, thou
Who gazest on the heaven and the hell
Of life, and singest each as well,
Touch with thy all-mellifluous finger-tips,
Or thy melodious lips,
This sickness named my soul,
Making it whole
As is an echo of a chord,
Or some symphonic word,
Or sweet vibrating sigh,
That deep, res...

In all we do, and hear, and see,
Is restless Toil and Vanity.
While yet the rolling earth abides,
Men come and go like Ocean tides;

And ere one generation dies,
Another in its place shall rise;
That, sinking soon into the grave,
Others succeed, like wave on wave;

And as they rise, they pass away.
The sun arises every day,
And, hastening onward to the West,
He nightly sinks, but not to rest:

Returning to the eastern skies,
Again to light us, he must rise.
And still the restless wind comes forth,
Now blowing keenly from the North;

Now from the South, the East, the West,
For ever changing, ne'er at rest.
The fountains, gushing from the hills,
Supply the ever-running rills;

The thirsty rivers drink their store,

Broad daylight, with a sense of weariness!
Mine eyes were closed, but I was not asleep,
My hand was in my father's, and I felt
His presence near me. Thus we often past
In silence, hour by hour. What was the need
Of interchanging words when every thought
That in our hearts arose, was known to each,
And every pulse kept time? Suddenly there shone
A strange light, and the scene as sudden changed.
I was awake:--It was an open plain
Illimitable,--stretching, stretching--oh, so far!
And o'er it that strange light,--a glorious light
Like that the stars shed over fields of snow
In a clear, cloudless, frosty winter night,
Only intenser in its brilliance calm.
And in the midst of that vast plain, I saw,
For I was wide awake,--it was no dream,
A tree with spreading ...