Safe in the magic of my woods
I lay, and watched the dying light.
Faint in the pale high solitudes,
And washed with rain and veiled by night,

Silver and blue and green were showing.
And the dark woods grew darker still;
And birds were hushed; and peace was growing;
And quietness crept up the hill;

And no wind was blowing

And I knew
That this was the hour of knowing,
And the night and the woods and you
Were one together, and I should find
Soon in the silence the hidden key
Of all that had hurt and puzzled me
Why you were you, and the night was kind,
And the woods were part of the heart of me.

And there I waited breathlessly,
Alone; and slowly the holy three,
The three that I loved, together grew
One, in the hour of kn...

Under the orchard boughs,
    That drop red leaves like coals into the grass.
        The golden arrows of the sunset fall;
        And on the vine-hung wall
Great purple clusters in delicious drowse,
Beakers of chrysolite and amethyst,
Yet by the sun unkissed,
    Lean down to all the wooing lips that pass,
Brimful of red, red wine
Sweet as brown peasants glean along the castled Rhine

All sights and sounds are of the Autumn weather;
    The urchin rock'ng in the trees
        Shakes silver laughter with the apples down,--
    And wading to the knees
        Among the stubble and the husks so brown,
The oxen keeping every patient step together,
Bring in the creaking wain,
High-piled with yellow maize and sheaves of rustling grain.

While i...

The sunlight that makes of the heaven
A pathway for sylphids to throng;
The wind that makes harps of the forests
For spirits to smite into song,
Are the image and voice of a vision
That comforts my heart and makes strong.

I look in one's face, and the shadows
Are lifted: and, lo, I can see,
Through windows of evident being,
That open on eternity,
The form of the essence of Beauty
God clothes with His own mystery.

I lean to one's voice, and the wrangle
Of living hath pause: and I hear
Through doors of invisible spirit,
That open on light that is clear,
The radiant raiment of Music
In the hush of the heavens sweep near.

Oh, what so subtle as the spell
    The silvery moonlight weaves?
Oh, what so sad and what so glad,
    And what so soon deceives.

A vision of the long ago--
    Long years of pain between;
A mocking dream of happier days--
    A veil of silver sheen.

A passing gleam of falling stars--
    An idle summer's dream;
The sudden waking of a heart--
    Things are not as they seem.

Oh, silver moon, indeed you hold
    The secrets of the heart;
And none can know and none can guess
    The mystery of thy art.

A silver length of rippling waves,
    A glance from happy eyes;
A strain of music low and sweet--
    The heart in rapture lies.

Yet, ah, how faithless are the vows
    Made 'neath the summer moon;
As c...

I' mi credetti.


I deemed upon that day when first I knew
        So many peerless beauties blent in one,
        That, like an eagle gazing on the sun,
        Mine eyes might fix on the least part of you.
That dream hath vanished, and my hope is flown;
        For he who fain a seraph would pursue
        Wingless, hath cast words to the winds, and dew
        On stones, and gauged God's reason with his own.
If then my heart cannot endure the blaze
        Of beauties infinite that blind these eyes,
        Nor yet can bear to be from you divided,
What fate is mine? Who guides or guards my ways,
        Seeing my soul, so lost and ill-betided,
        Burns in your presence, in your absence dies?

In Virgil's Sacred Verse we find,
That Passion can depress or raise
The Heav'nly, as the Human Mind:
Who dare deny what Virgil says?
But if They shou'd; what our Great Master
Has thus laid down, my Tale shall prove.
Fair Venus wept the sad Disaster
Of having lost her Fav'rite Dove.
In Complaisance poor Cupid mourn'd;
His Grief reliev'd his Mother's Pain;
He vow'd he'd leave no Stone unturn'd,
But She shou'd have her Dove again.
Tho' None, said He, shall yet be nam'd,
I know the Felon well enough:
But be She not, Mamma, condemn'd
Without a fair and legal Proof.
With that, his longest Dart he took,
As Constable wou'd take his Staff:
That Gods desire like Men to look,
Wou'd make ev'n Heraclitus laugh.
Loves Subaltern, a Duteous Band,
Like...

    I feed a flame within, which so torments me,
    That it both pains my heart, and yet contents me:
    'Tis such a pleasing smart, and I so love it,
    That I had rather die than once remove it.

    Yet he for whom I grieve shall never know it:
    My tongue does not betray, nor my eyes show it.
    Not a sigh, not a tear, my pain discloses,
    But they fall silently, like dew on roses.

    Thus, to prevent my love from being cruel,
    My heart's the sacrifice, as 'tis the fuel:
    And while I suffer this to give him quiet,
    My faith rewards my love, though he deny it.

    On his eyes will I gaze, and there delight me;
    Where I conceal my love no frown can fright me:
    To be more happy, I dare not aspire;
    Nor can I fall more lo...

Smooth the hair;
Silken waves of sunny brown
Lay upon the white brow down,
Crowned with the blossoms rare;
Lilies on a golden stream,
Ne'er to float in summer air
Wreathed with meadow daisies fair.
Lay away the broken crown
And your broken dream,
With one shining tress of hair,
Nevermore to need your care.

The mystery of Life, the mystery
Of Death, I see
Darkly as in a glass;
Their shadows pass,
And talk with me.

As the flush of a Morning Sky,
As a Morning Sky colorless -
Each yields its measure of light
To a wet world or a dry;
Each fares through day to night
With equal pace,
And then each one
Is done.

As the Sun with glory and grace
In his face,
Benignantly hot,
Graciously radiant and keen,
Ready to rise and to run, -
Not without spot,
Not even the Sun.

As the Moon
On the wax, on the wane,
With night for her noon;
Vanishing soon,
To appear again.

As Roses that droop
Half warm, half chill, in the languid May,
And breathe out a scent
Sweet and faint;
Till the wind gives one ...

Now the Four-way Lodge is opened, now the Hunting Winds are loose,
Now the Smokes of Spring go up to clear the brain;
Now the Young Men's hearts are troubled for the whisper of the Trues,
Now the Red Gods make their medicine again!
Who hath seen the beaver busied?
Who hath watched the black-tail mating?
Who hath lain alone to hear the wild-goose cry?
Who hath worked the chosen water where the ouananiche is waiting,
Or the sea-trout's jumping-crazy for the fly?
He must go, go, go away from here!
On the other side the world he's overdue.
'Send your road is clear before you when the old
Spring-fret comes o'er you,
And the Red Gods call for you!
So for one the wet sail arching through the rainbow round the bow,
And for one the creak of snow-shoes on the crust;
And...

Bird of the summering North,
Whither away?
Fly you so gaily forth
Simply to stay
Nested in northern bowers
Till the late flushing flowers
Turn in October hours
Ashen and gray?

Bear, then, this message, Dove,
When you depart,
Safe to my northern Love,
Quick! Like a dart!
Bill her and coo her this
Seal of triumphant bliss,
One young, immortal kiss,
Hot from my heart.

Then, in the autumn time,
Tailing the pole,
From my Love's cooling clime
Make me your goal;
Flash to this field of Fame,
Linked with her darling name,
All her concordant flame,
Deep from her soul.

    Earth's manifold noises break
        Overhead, in the calm,
    In unison full, and wake
        The note of a psalm.

    On the sunny hills, in the vales,
        It falls on my ear;
    Down the baffling winds it sails,
        In the night draweth near.


    It sounds like great mountains to me,
        A deep monotone -
    Like the veiled AEonian sea,
        That girdles Time's zone.

    The sun and the stars and the moon
        Keep time with this note,
    The evening and morning and noon,
        Things near and remote.

    The tides ebb and flow to its beat,
        'Tis the seasons' rhyme, -
    The harebell and twin-flower sweet
        Its undertone chime.



    The night-moth ...

        For the sake of some things
            That be now no more
        I will strew rushes
            On my chamber-floor,
        I will plant bergamot
            At my kitchen-door.

        For the sake of dim things
            That were once so plain
        I will set a barrel
            Out to catch the rain,
        I will hang an iron pot
            On an iron crane.

        Many things be dead and gone
            That were brave and gay;
        For the sake of these things
            I will learn to say,
        "An it please you, gentle sirs,"
            "Alack!" and "Well-a-day!"

If one poor burdened toiler o'er life's road,
    Who meets us by the way,
Goes on less conscious of his galling load,
    Then life, indeed, does pay.

If we can show one troubled heart the gain
    That lies alway in loss,
Why, then, we too are paid for all the pain
    Of bearing life's hard cross.

If some despondent soul to hope is stirred,
    Some sad lip made to smile,
By any act of ours, or any word,
    Then, life has been worth while.

I saw him pass as the new day dawned,
Murmuring some musical phrase;
Horses were drinking and floundering in the pond,
And the tired stars thinned their gaze;
Yet these were not the spectacles at all that he conned,
But an inner one, giving out rays.

Such was the thing in his eye, walking there,
The very and visible thing,
A close light, displacing the gray of the morning air,
And the tokens that the dark was taking wing;
And was it not the radiance of a purpose rare
That might ripe to its accomplishing?

What became of that light? I wonder still its fate!
Was it quenched ere its full apogee?
Did it struggle frail and frailer to a beam emaciate?
Did it thrive till matured in verity?
Or did it travel on, to be a new young dreamer's freight,
And ...

    Love is the part, and love is the whole;
    Love is the robe, and love is the pall;
    Ruler of heart and brain and soul,
    Love is the lord and the slave of all!
    I thank thee, Love, that thou lov'st me;
    I thank thee more that I love thee.

    Love is the rain, and love is the air,
    Love is the earth that holdeth fast;
    Love is the root that is buried there,
    Love is the open flower at last!
    I thank thee, Love all round about,
    That the eyes of my love are looking out.

    Love is the sun, and love is the sea;
    Love is the tide that comes and goes;
    Flowing and flowing it comes to me;
    Ebbing and ebbing to thee it flows!
    Oh my sun, and my wind, and tide!
    My sea, and my shore, and all beside!

From Cypress and from laurel boughs
    Are twined, in sorrow and in pride,
The leaves that deck the mouldering brows
    Of those who for their country died:
In sorrow, that the sable pall
    Enfolds the valiant and the brave;
In pride that those who nobly fall
    Win garlands that adorn the grave.

The onset--the pursuit--the roar
    Of victory o'er the routed foe--
Will startle from their rest no more
    The fallen brave of Mexico.
To God alone such spirits yield!
    He took them in their strength and bloom,
When gathering, on the tented field,
    The garlands woven for the tomb.

The shrouded flag--the drooping spear--
    The muffled drum--the solemn bell--
The funeral train--the dirge--the bier--
    The mourners' sad and l...

"Listen my child," said the old pine tree, to the little one nestling near,
"For the storm clouds troop together to-night, and the wind of the north I hear
And perchance there may come some echo of the music of long ago,
The music that rang when the White Host sang, marching across the snow."

"Up and away Saint George! up thro' the mountain gorge,
Over the plain where the tempest blows, and the great white flakes are flying
Down the long narrow glen! faster my merry men,
Follow the trail, tho' shy moon hides, and deeply the drifts are lying."

"Ah! mother." the little pine tree replied, "you are dreaming again to-night
Of ghostly visions and phantom forms that for-ever mock your sight
'Tis true moan of the winter wind comes to my list'ning ear
But the White Host marching, I...