O Tintern, Tintern! evermore my dreams
Troubled of thy grave beauty shall be born;
Thy crumbling loveliness and ivy streams
Shall speak to me for ever, from this morn;
The wind-wild daws about thy arches drifting,
Clouds sweeping o'er thy ruin to the sea,
Gray Tintern, all the hills about thee, lifting
Their misty waving woodland verdancy!
Troubled of thy grave beauty shall be born;
Thy crumbling loveliness and ivy streams
Shall speak to me for ever, from this morn;
The wind-wild daws about thy arches drifting,
Clouds sweeping o'er thy ruin to the sea,
Gray Tintern, all the hills about thee, lifting
Their misty waving woodland verdancy!
The centuries that draw thee to the earth
In envy of thy desolated charm,
The summers and the winters, the sky's girth
Of sunny blue or bleakness, seek thy harm.
But would that I were Time, then only tender
Touch upon thee should fall as on I sped;
Of every pillar would I be defender,
Of every mossy window—of thy dead!
In envy of thy desolated charm,
The summers and the winters, the sky's girth
Of sunny blue or bleakness, seek thy harm.
But would that I were Time, then only tender
Touch upon thee should fall as on I sped;
Of every pillar would I be defender,
Of every mossy window—of thy dead!
Thy dead beneath obliterated stones
Upon the sod that is at last thy floor,
Who list the Wye not as it lonely moans
Nor heed thy Gothic shadows grieving o'er.
O Tintern, Tintern! trysting-place, where never
Is wanting mysteries that move the breast,
I'll hear thy beauty calling, ah, for ever—
Till sinks within me the last voice to rest!
Upon the sod that is at last thy floor,
Who list the Wye not as it lonely moans
Nor heed thy Gothic shadows grieving o'er.
O Tintern, Tintern! trysting-place, where never
Is wanting mysteries that move the breast,
I'll hear thy beauty calling, ah, for ever—
Till sinks within me the last voice to rest!
THE VICTORY
See, see!—the blows at his breast,
Abyss at his back,
The peril of dark that pressed,
The doubts in a pack,
That hunted to drag him down
Have triumphed? and now
He sinks who climbed for the crown
To the Summit's brow?
Abyss at his back,
The peril of dark that pressed,
The doubts in a pack,
That hunted to drag him down
Have triumphed? and now
He sinks who climbed for the crown
To the Summit's brow?
No!—though at the foot he lies,
Fallen and vain,
With gaze to the peak whose skies,
He could not attain,
The victory is, with strength—
No matter the past!—
He'd dare it again, the dark length,
And the fall at last!
Fallen and vain,
With gaze to the peak whose skies,
He could not attain,
The victory is, with strength—
No matter the past!—
He'd dare it again, the dark length,
And the fall at last!
SEARCHING DEATH'S DARK
When Autumn's melancholy robes the land
With silence and sad fadings mystical
Of other years move thro' the mellow fields,
I turn unto this meadow of the dead
Strewn with the leaves stormed from October trees,
And wonder if my resting shall be dug
Here by this cedar's moan or under the sway
Of yonder cypress—lair of winds that rove
As Valkyries from Valhalla's court
In search of worthy slain.
And sundry times with questioning I tease
The entombed of their estate—seeking to know
Whether 'tis sweeter in the grave to feel
The oblivion of Nature's flow, or here
Wander as gleam and shadow flit her face.
Whether the harvesting of pain and joy
Ends with the ivied slab, or whether death
Pours the warm chrism of Immortality
Into each human heart whose glow is spent.
Nor do my askings fall on the chill voids
Of unavailing silence. For a voice
Of sighing wind may answer, or it leaps,
Though wordless, from a marble seraph's face.
Or sometimes from unspeakable deeps of gold
That ebb along the west revealings wing
And tremor, like etherial swift tongues
Unskilled of human speech, about my heart—
Till, youth, age, death ... even earth's all, it seems,
Are but wild moments wakened in that Soul,
To whom infinities are as a span,
Eternities as bird-flights o'er the sun,
And worlds as sands blown from Sahara's wilds
Into the sea....
With silence and sad fadings mystical
Of other years move thro' the mellow fields,
I turn unto this meadow of the dead
Strewn with the leaves stormed from October trees,
And wonder if my resting shall be dug
Here by this cedar's moan or under the sway
Of yonder cypress—lair of winds that rove
As Valkyries from Valhalla's court
In search of worthy slain.
And sundry times with questioning I tease
The entombed of their estate—seeking to know
Whether 'tis sweeter in the grave to feel
The oblivion of Nature's flow, or here
Wander as gleam and shadow flit her face.
Whether the harvesting of pain and joy
Ends with the ivied slab, or whether death
Pours the warm chrism of Immortality
Into each human heart whose glow is spent.
Nor do my askings fall on the chill voids
Of unavailing silence. For a voice
Of sighing wind may answer, or it leaps,
Though wordless, from a marble seraph's face.
Or sometimes from unspeakable deeps of gold
That ebb along the west revealings wing
And tremor, like etherial swift tongues
Unskilled of human speech, about my heart—
Till, youth, age, death ... even earth's all, it seems,
Are but wild moments wakened in that Soul,
To whom infinities are as a span,
Eternities as bird-flights o'er the sun,
And worlds as sands blown from Sahara's wilds
Into the sea....
Then twilight bells ring back
My wandered spirit from the wilderness
Of Mystery, whence none may find a path
To the Unknown, and like one who upborne
Has steered the unmeasured summer skies until
Their calm seems God, I turn transfigured home.
My wandered spirit from the wilderness
Of Mystery, whence none may find a path
To the Unknown, and like one who upborne
Has steered the unmeasured summer skies until
Their calm seems God, I turn transfigured home.
SERENITY
And could I love it more—this simple scene
Of cot-strewn hills and fields long-harvested,
That lie as if forgotten were all green,
So bare, so dead?
Of cot-strewn hills and fields long-harvested,
That lie as if forgotten were all green,
So bare, so dead?
Or could my gaze more tenderly entwine
Each pallid beech or silvery sycamore,
Outreaching arms in patience to divine
If winter's o'er?
Each pallid beech or silvery sycamore,
Outreaching arms in patience to divine
If winter's o'er?
Ah no, the wind has blown into my veins
The blue infinity of sky, the sense
Of meadows free to-day from icy pains—
From wintry vents.
The blue infinity of sky, the sense
Of meadows free to-day from icy pains—
From wintry vents.
And sunny peace more virgin than the glow
Falling from eve's first star into the night,
Brings hope believing what it ne'er can know
With mortal sight.
Falling from eve's first star into the night,
Brings hope believing what it ne'er can know
With mortal sight.
TO THE SPRING WIND
Ah, what a changeling!
Yester you dashed from the west,
Altho' it is Spring,
And scattered the hail with maniac zest
Thro' the shivering corn—in scorn
For the labour of God and man.
And now from the plentiful South you haste,
With lovingest fingers,
To ruefully lift and wooingly fan
The lily that lingers a-faint on the stalk:
As if the chill waste
Of the earth's May-dreams,
The flowers so full of her joy,
Were not—as it seems—
A wanton attempt to destroy.
Yester you dashed from the west,
Altho' it is Spring,
And scattered the hail with maniac zest
Thro' the shivering corn—in scorn
For the labour of God and man.
And now from the plentiful South you haste,
With lovingest fingers,
To ruefully lift and wooingly fan
The lily that lingers a-faint on the stalk:
As if the chill waste
Of the earth's May-dreams,
The flowers so full of her joy,
Were not—as it seems—
A wanton attempt to destroy.
THE RAMBLE
Down the road
Which asters tangle,
Thro' the gap
Where green-briar twines,
By the path
Where dry leaves dangle
Down from the ivy vines,
Which asters tangle,
Thro' the gap
Where green-briar twines,
By the path
Where dry leaves dangle
Down from the ivy vines,
We go—
By sedgy fallows
And along
The stifled brook,
Till it stops
In lushy mallows
Just at the bridge's crook.
By sedgy fallows
And along
The stifled brook,
Till it stops
In lushy mallows
Just at the bridge's crook.
Then, again,
O'er fence, thro' thicket,
To the mouth
Of the rough ravine—
Where the weird
Leaf-hidden cricket
Chirrs thro' the weirder green—
O'er fence, thro' thicket,
To the mouth
Of the rough ravine—
Where the weird
Leaf-hidden cricket
Chirrs thro' the weirder green—
There's a way
O'er rocks—but quicker
Is the best
Of heart and foot,
As the beams
Above us flicker
Sun upon moss and root!
O'er rocks—but quicker
Is the best
Of heart and foot,
As the beams
Above us flicker
Sun upon moss and root!
And we leap—
As wildness tingles
From the air
Into our blood—
With a cry
Thro' golden dingles
Hid in the heart of the wood.
As wildness tingles
From the air
Into our blood—
With a cry
Thro' golden dingles
Hid in the heart of the wood.
Oh, the wood
With winds a-wrestle!
With the nut
And acorn strown!
Oh, the wood
Where creepers trestle,
Tree unto tree o'ergrown!
With winds a-wrestle!
With the nut
And acorn strown!
Oh, the wood
Where creepers trestle,
Tree unto tree o'ergrown!
With a climb
The ledging summit
Of the hill
Is reached in glee.
For an hour
We gaze off from it
Into the sky's blue sea.
The ledging summit
Of the hill
Is reached in glee.
For an hour
We gaze off from it
Into the sky's blue sea.
But a bell
And sunset's crimson
Soon recall
The homeward path.
And we turn
As the glory dims on
The hay-fields' mounded math.
And sunset's crimson
Soon recall
The homeward path.
And we turn
As the glory dims on
The hay-fields' mounded math.
Thro' the soft
And silent twilight
We come,
To the stile at last,
As the clear
Undying eyelight
Of the stars tells day is past.
And silent twilight
We come,
To the stile at last,
As the clear
Undying eyelight
Of the stars tells day is past.
RETURN
Ah, it was here—September
And silence filled the air—
I came last year to remember,
And muse, hid away from care.
It was here I came—the thistle
Was trusting her seed to the wind;
The quail in the croft gave whistle
As now—and the fields lay thinned.
And silence filled the air—
I came last year to remember,
And muse, hid away from care.
It was here I came—the thistle
Was trusting her seed to the wind;
The quail in the croft gave whistle
As now—and the fields lay thinned.
I know how the hay was steeping,
Brown mows under mellow haze;
How a frail cloud-flock was creeping
As now over lone sky-ways.
Just there where the cat-bird's calling
Her mock-hurt note by the shed,
The use-worn wain was stalling
In the weedy brook's dry bed.
Brown mows under mellow haze;
How a frail cloud-flock was creeping
As now over lone sky-ways.
Just there where the cat-bird's calling
Her mock-hurt note by the shed,
The use-worn wain was stalling
In the weedy brook's dry bed.
And the cricket, lone little chimer
Of day-long dreams in the vines,
Chirred on like a doting rhymer
O'er-vain of his firstling lines.
He's near me now by the aster,
Beneath whose shadowy spray
A sultry bee seeps faster
As the sun slips down the day.
Of day-long dreams in the vines,
Chirred on like a doting rhymer
O'er-vain of his firstling lines.
He's near me now by the aster,
Beneath whose shadowy spray
A sultry bee seeps faster
As the sun slips down the day.
And there are the tall primroses
Like maidens waiting to dance.
They stood in the same shy poses
Last year, as if to entrance
The stately mulleins to waken
From death and lead them around:
And still they will stand untaken,
Till drops their gold to the ground.
Like maidens waiting to dance.
They stood in the same shy poses
Last year, as if to entrance
The stately mulleins to waken
From death and lead them around:
And still they will stand untaken,
Till drops their gold to the ground.
Yes, it was here—September
And silence round me yearned.
Again I've come to remember,
Again for musing returned
To the searing fields assuaging,
And the falling leaves' sad balm:
Away from the world's keen waging—
To harvest and hills and calm.
And silence round me yearned.
Again I've come to remember,
Again for musing returned
To the searing fields assuaging,
And the falling leaves' sad balm:
Away from the world's keen waging—
To harvest and hills and calm.
THE EMPTY CROSS
The eve of Golgotha had come,
And Christ lay shrouded in the garden's tomb:
Among the olives, Oh, how dumb,
How sad the sun incarnadined the gloom!
And Christ lay shrouded in the garden's tomb:
Among the olives, Oh, how dumb,
How sad the sun incarnadined the gloom!
The hill grew dim—the pleading cross
Reached empty arms toward the closing gate.
Jerusalem, oh, count thy loss!
Oh, hear ye! hear ye! ere it be too late!
Reached empty arms toward the closing gate.
Jerusalem, oh, count thy loss!
Oh, hear ye! hear ye! ere it be too late!
Reached bleeding arms—but how in vain!
The murmurous multitude within the wall
Already had forgot His pain—
To-morrow would forget the cross—and all!
The murmurous multitude within the wall
Already had forgot His pain—
To-morrow would forget the cross—and all!
They knew not Rome before its sign,
Bending her brow bound with the nations' threne,
Would sweep all lands from Nile to Rhine
In servitude unto the Nazarene.
Bending her brow bound with the nations' threne,
Would sweep all lands from Nile to Rhine
In servitude unto the Nazarene.
Nor knew that millions would forsake
Ancestral shrines great with the glow of time,
And lifting up its token shake
Aeons with thrill of love or battle's crime.
Ancestral shrines great with the glow of time,
And lifting up its token shake
Aeons with thrill of love or battle's crime.
With empty arms aloft it stood:
Ah, Scribe and Pharisee, ye builded well!
The cross emblotted with His blood
Mounts, highest Hope of men against earth's hell!
Ah, Scribe and Pharisee, ye builded well!
The cross emblotted with His blood
Mounts, highest Hope of men against earth's hell!
SUNSET-LOVERS
Upon how many a hill,
Across how many a field,
Beside how many a river's whispery flowing,
They stand, with eyes a-thrill,
And hearts of day-rue healed,
Gazing, O wistful sun, upon thy going!
Across how many a field,
Beside how many a river's whispery flowing,
They stand, with eyes a-thrill,
And hearts of day-rue healed,
Gazing, O wistful sun, upon thy going!
They have forgotten life,
Forgotten sunless death;
Desire is gone—is it not gone for ever?
No memory of strife
Have they, or pain-sick breath,
No hopes to fear or fears hope cannot sever.
Forgotten sunless death;
Desire is gone—is it not gone for ever?
No memory of strife
Have they, or pain-sick breath,
No hopes to fear or fears hope cannot sever.
Silent the gold steals down
The west, and mystery
Moves deeper in their hearts and settles darker.
'Tis faded—the day's crown;
But strange and shadowy
They see the Unseen as night falls stark and starker.
The west, and mystery
Moves deeper in their hearts and settles darker.
'Tis faded—the day's crown;
But strange and shadowy
They see the Unseen as night falls stark and starker.
Like priests whose altar fires
Are spent, immovable
They stand, in awful ecstasy uplifted.
Zephyrs awake tree-lyres,
The starry deeps are full,
Earth with a mystic majesty is gifted.
Are spent, immovable
They stand, in awful ecstasy uplifted.
Zephyrs awake tree-lyres,
The starry deeps are full,
Earth with a mystic majesty is gifted.
Ah, sunset-lovers, though
Time were but pulsing pain,
And death no more than its eternal ceasing,
Would you not choose the throe,
Hold the oblivion vain,
To have beheld so many days releasing?
Time were but pulsing pain,
And death no more than its eternal ceasing,
Would you not choose the throe,
Hold the oblivion vain,
To have beheld so many days releasing?
TO A ROSE
(In a Hospital)
Why do I love thee?—
Not because thy wak'ning lips
Were wooed to bloom by minstrel wind
Of Araby or Ind.
Not because thy wak'ning lips
Were wooed to bloom by minstrel wind
Of Araby or Ind.
Not because thy fragrance slips
Into my soul—as if thou must
Be sprung of a mother's dust.
Into my soul—as if thou must
Be sprung of a mother's dust.
Not because she gave her breast
To thee for one long night—she whose
Pure heart I ne'er shall lose.
To thee for one long night—she whose
Pure heart I ne'er shall lose.
But when I lay in sick unrest
Afar from those who are my own,
Thou camest from hands unknown:
Therefore I love thee!
Afar from those who are my own,
Thou camest from hands unknown:
Therefore I love thee!
UNBURTHENED
Not pain nor the sunny wine
Of gladness steepeth my still spirit as
I lift my gaze across the winter meads
Engarmented in stubble robes of brown.
For, as those solitary trees afar
Have reached unbudding boughs
To the dim warmth of the February sun,
And melted on the infinite calm of space,
So I have reached—and am no more distraught
With the quivering pangs of memory's yesterday.
But the boon of blue skies deeper than despair,
Of rests that rise
As tides of sleep,
And care borne on the plumes
Of swan-swift clouds away to the sullen shades
Of quelled snow-storms low-lying in the west,
Have lulled my soul with soft infinitude.
And now ... down sinks the sun,
Until, half-arched above the marge of earth,
It hangs, a golden door,
Through which effulgent Paradise beyond
Burns seeming forth along the path of those
Who, crowned by Death with Life, pass to its portal.
How soon 'tis closed—how soon! The trumpetings
Of seraphs whose gold blasts of light break o'er
Purplescent passing battlements of cloud,
Sound clear ... then comes the dusk!
Of gladness steepeth my still spirit as
I lift my gaze across the winter meads
Engarmented in stubble robes of brown.
For, as those solitary trees afar
Have reached unbudding boughs
To the dim warmth of the February sun,
And melted on the infinite calm of space,
So I have reached—and am no more distraught
With the quivering pangs of memory's yesterday.
But the boon of blue skies deeper than despair,
Of rests that rise
As tides of sleep,
And care borne on the plumes
Of swan-swift clouds away to the sullen shades
Of quelled snow-storms low-lying in the west,
Have lulled my soul with soft infinitude.
And now ... down sinks the sun,
Until, half-arched above the marge of earth,
It hangs, a golden door,
Through which effulgent Paradise beyond
Burns seeming forth along the path of those
Who, crowned by Death with Life, pass to its portal.
How soon 'tis closed—how soon! The trumpetings
Of seraphs whose gold blasts of light break o'er
Purplescent passing battlements of cloud,
Sound clear ... then comes the dusk!
WHERE PEACE IS DUTY
Dimming in sunniness, aerily distant,
Valley and hillside float;
Up to me wavering, softly insistent,
Wanders the wood-brook's note.
Valley and hillside float;
Up to me wavering, softly insistent,
Wanders the wood-brook's note.
Anchored beyond in azure unending
Cloud-sails await wind-tide.
Oh, for the skylands where soon they'll be wending—
And, unabiding, bide.
Cloud-sails await wind-tide.
Oh, for the skylands where soon they'll be wending—
And, unabiding, bide.
Where Time aflow thro' infinite spaces
Stays for no throttle of pain!
Where the stars go at eve to their places;
Where silence never shall wane!
Stays for no throttle of pain!
Where the stars go at eve to their places;
Where silence never shall wane!
Where there's no sense but of beauty's wild sweetness,
Thought but of sweetening beauty!
Where wanting's stilled in unwanting's completeness—
Where peace is duty!
Thought but of sweetening beauty!
Where wanting's stilled in unwanting's completeness—
Where peace is duty!
WANTON JUNE
I knew she would come!
Sarcastic November
Laughed cold and glum
On the last red ember
Of forest leaves.
He was laughing, the scorner,
At me forlorner
Than any that grieves—
Because I asked him if June would come!
Sarcastic November
Laughed cold and glum
On the last red ember
Of forest leaves.
He was laughing, the scorner,
At me forlorner
Than any that grieves—
Because I asked him if June would come!
But I knew she would come!
When snow-hearted winter
Gripped river and loam,
And the wind sped flinter
On icy heel,
I was chafing my sorrow
And yearning to borrow
A hope that would steal
Across the hours—till June should come.
When snow-hearted winter
Gripped river and loam,
And the wind sped flinter
On icy heel,
I was chafing my sorrow
And yearning to borrow
A hope that would steal
Across the hours—till June should come.
And now she is here.—
The wanton!—I follow
Her steps, ever near,
To the shade of the hollow
Where violets blow:
And chide her for leaving,
Tho' half, still, believing
She taunted me so,
To make her abided return more dear.
The wanton!—I follow
Her steps, ever near,
To the shade of the hollow
Where violets blow:
And chide her for leaving,
Tho' half, still, believing
She taunted me so,
To make her abided return more dear.
AUTUMN AT THE BRIDGE
Brown dropping of leaves,
Soft rush of the wind,
Slow searing of sheaves
On the hill;
Green plunging of frogs,
Cool lisp of the brook,
Far barking of dogs
At the mill;
Hot hanging of clouds,
High poise of the hawk,
Flush laughter of crowds
From the Ridge;
Nut-falling, quail-calling,
Wheel-rumbling, bee-mumbling—
Oh, sadness, gladness, madness,
Of an autumn day at the bridge!
Soft rush of the wind,
Slow searing of sheaves
On the hill;
Green plunging of frogs,
Cool lisp of the brook,
Far barking of dogs
At the mill;
Hot hanging of clouds,
High poise of the hawk,
Flush laughter of crowds
From the Ridge;
Nut-falling, quail-calling,
Wheel-rumbling, bee-mumbling—
Oh, sadness, gladness, madness,
Of an autumn day at the bridge!
SONG
Her voice is vibrant beauty dipt
In dreams of infinite sorrow and delight.
Thro' an awaiting soul 'tis slipt
And lo, words spring that breathe immortal might.
In dreams of infinite sorrow and delight.
Thro' an awaiting soul 'tis slipt
And lo, words spring that breathe immortal might.
TO HER WHO SHALL COME
1
Out of the night of lovelessness I call
Thee, as, in a chill chamber where no ray
Of unbelievable light and freedom fall,
Might cry one manacled! And tho' the way
Thou'lt come I cannot see; tho' my heart's sore
With emptiness when morning's silent gray
Wakes me to long aloneness; yet I know
Thou hast been with me, who like dawn wilt go
Beside me, when I have found thee, evermore!
Thee, as, in a chill chamber where no ray
Of unbelievable light and freedom fall,
Might cry one manacled! And tho' the way
Thou'lt come I cannot see; tho' my heart's sore
With emptiness when morning's silent gray
Wakes me to long aloneness; yet I know
Thou hast been with me, who like dawn wilt go
Beside me, when I have found thee, evermore!
2
So in the garden of my heart each day
I plant thee a flower. Now the pansy, peace,
And now the lily, faith—or now a spray
Of the climbing ivy, hope. And they ne'er cease
Around the still unblossoming rose of love
To bend in fragrant tribute to her sway.
Then—for thy shelter from life's sultrier suns,
The oak of strength I set o'er joy that runs
With brooklet glee from winds that grieve above.
I plant thee a flower. Now the pansy, peace,
And now the lily, faith—or now a spray
Of the climbing ivy, hope. And they ne'er cease
Around the still unblossoming rose of love
To bend in fragrant tribute to her sway.
Then—for thy shelter from life's sultrier suns,
The oak of strength I set o'er joy that runs
With brooklet glee from winds that grieve above.
3
But where now art thou? Watching with love's eye
The eve-star wander? Listening through dim trees
Some thrilled muezzin of the forest cry
From his leafy minaret? Or by the sea's
Blue brim, while the spectral moon half o'er it hangs
Like the faery isle of Avalon, do these
My yearnings speak to thee of days thy feet
Have never trod?—Sweet, sweet, oh, sealing sweet,
My own, must be our meeting's mystic pangs.
The eve-star wander? Listening through dim trees
Some thrilled muezzin of the forest cry
From his leafy minaret? Or by the sea's
Blue brim, while the spectral moon half o'er it hangs
Like the faery isle of Avalon, do these
My yearnings speak to thee of days thy feet
Have never trod?—Sweet, sweet, oh, sealing sweet,
My own, must be our meeting's mystic pangs.
4
And will be soon! For last night near to day,
Dreaming, God called me thro' the space-built sphere
Of heaven and said, "Come, waiting one, and lay
Thine ear unto my Heart—there thou shall hear
The secrets of this world where evils war."
Such things I heard as must rend mortal clay
To tell, and trembled—till God, pitying,
Said, "Listen" ... Oh, my love, I heard thee sing
Out of thy window to the morning star!
Dreaming, God called me thro' the space-built sphere
Of heaven and said, "Come, waiting one, and lay
Thine ear unto my Heart—there thou shall hear
The secrets of this world where evils war."
Such things I heard as must rend mortal clay
To tell, and trembled—till God, pitying,
Said, "Listen" ... Oh, my love, I heard thee sing
Out of thy window to the morning star!
AVOWAL TO THE NIGHTINGALE
Though thou hast ne'er unpent thy pain's delight
Upon these airs, bird of the poet's love,
Yet must I sing thy singing! for the Night
Has poured her jewels o'er the lap of heaven
As they who've heard thee say thou dost above
The wood such ecstasies as were not given
By nestling breasts of Venus to the dove.
Upon these airs, bird of the poet's love,
Yet must I sing thy singing! for the Night
Has poured her jewels o'er the lap of heaven
As they who've heard thee say thou dost above
The wood such ecstasies as were not given
By nestling breasts of Venus to the dove.
Oft I have watched the moon orb her fair gold,
Still clung to by the tattered mists of day
And look for thee. Then has my hope grown bold
Till almost I could see how the near laurels
Would tremble with thy trembling: but the sway
Of bards who've wreathed thee with unfading chorals
Has held my longing lips from this poor lay.
Still clung to by the tattered mists of day
And look for thee. Then has my hope grown bold
Till almost I could see how the near laurels
Would tremble with thy trembling: but the sway
Of bards who've wreathed thee with unfading chorals
Has held my longing lips from this poor lay.
None but the sky-hid lark whose spirit is
Too high for earth may vie for praise with thee
In aery rhapsody. And since 'tis his
To sing of day and joy as thou of sorrow
And night o'erhovering singest, thou'lt e'er be
More dear than he—till hearts shall cease to borrow
From grief the healing for life's mystery.
Too high for earth may vie for praise with thee
In aery rhapsody. And since 'tis his
To sing of day and joy as thou of sorrow
And night o'erhovering singest, thou'lt e'er be
More dear than he—till hearts shall cease to borrow
From grief the healing for life's mystery.
Then loose thy song! Though no grave ear may list
Its lyric trouble, still 'tis soothing sweet
To know that songs unheard and graces missed
By every eye melt on the skies that nourish
Us with immortal blue; and, changed, repeat
Their protean loveliness in all we cherish.
For beauty cannot die, howe'er 'tmay fleet.
Its lyric trouble, still 'tis soothing sweet
To know that songs unheard and graces missed
By every eye melt on the skies that nourish
Us with immortal blue; and, changed, repeat
Their protean loveliness in all we cherish.
For beauty cannot die, howe'er 'tmay fleet.
STORM-EBB
Dusking amber dimly creeps
Over the vale,
Lit by the kildee's silver sweeps,
Sad with his wail.
Over the vale,
Lit by the kildee's silver sweeps,
Sad with his wail.
Eastward swing the silent clouds
Into the night.
Burdens of day they seem—in crowds
Hurled from earth's sight.
Into the night.
Burdens of day they seem—in crowds
Hurled from earth's sight.
Tilting gulls whip whitely far
Over the lake,
Tirelessly on o'er buoy and spar
Till they o'ertake
Over the lake,
Tirelessly on o'er buoy and spar
Till they o'ertake
Shadow and mingled mist—and then
Vanish to wing
Still the bewildering night-fen,
Where the waves ring.
Vanish to wing
Still the bewildering night-fen,
Where the waves ring.
Dusking amber dimly dies
Out of the vale.
Dead from the dunes the winds arise—
Ghosts of the gale.
Out of the vale.
Dead from the dunes the winds arise—
Ghosts of the gale.
SLAVES
A host of bloody centuries lie prone
Upon the fields of Time—but still the wake
Of Progress loud is haunted with the groan
Of myriads, from whose peaceful veins, to slake
His scarlet thirst, has War, fierce Polypheme
Of fate, insatiately drunk Life's stream.
We bid the courier lightning leap along
Its metal path with spaceless speed—command
Stars lost in night-eternity to throng
Before the magnet eye of Science—stand
On Glory's peak and triumphingly cry
Out mastery of earth and sea and air.
But unto War's necessity we bare
Our piteous breasts—and impotently die.
Upon the fields of Time—but still the wake
Of Progress loud is haunted with the groan
Of myriads, from whose peaceful veins, to slake
His scarlet thirst, has War, fierce Polypheme
Of fate, insatiately drunk Life's stream.
We bid the courier lightning leap along
Its metal path with spaceless speed—command
Stars lost in night-eternity to throng
Before the magnet eye of Science—stand
On Glory's peak and triumphingly cry
Out mastery of earth and sea and air.
But unto War's necessity we bare
Our piteous breasts—and impotently die.
WAKING
Oh, the long dawn, the weary, endless dawn,
When sleep's oblivion is torn away
From love that died with dying yesterday
But still unburied in the heart lies on!
When sleep's oblivion is torn away
From love that died with dying yesterday
But still unburied in the heart lies on!
Oh, the sick gray, the twitter in the trees,
The sense of human waking o'er the earth!
The quivering memories of love's fair birth
Now strown as deathless flowers o'er its decease!
The sense of human waking o'er the earth!
The quivering memories of love's fair birth
Now strown as deathless flowers o'er its decease!
Oh, the regret, and oh, regretlessness,
Striving for sovranty within the soul!
Oh, fear that life shall never more be whole,
And immortality but make it less!
Striving for sovranty within the soul!
Oh, fear that life shall never more be whole,
And immortality but make it less!
FAUN-CALL
Oh, who is he will follow me
With a singing,
Down sunny roads where windy odes
Of the woods are ringing?
With a singing,
Down sunny roads where windy odes
Of the woods are ringing?
Where leaves are tossed from branches lost
In a tangle
Of vines that vie to clamber high—
But to vault and dangle!
In a tangle
Of vines that vie to clamber high—
But to vault and dangle!
Oh, who is he?—His eye must be
As a lover's
To leap and woo the chicory's hue
In the hazel-hovers!
As a lover's
To leap and woo the chicory's hue
In the hazel-hovers!
His hope must dance like radiance
O'er the shadows
Of clouds that fling their threatening
On the stubbly meadows!
O'er the shadows
Of clouds that fling their threatening
On the stubbly meadows!
And he must see that Autumn's glee
And her laughter
From his lips and heart will quell all smart—
Of before and after!
And her laughter
From his lips and heart will quell all smart—
Of before and after!
LINGERING
I lingered still when you were gone,
When tryst and trust were o'er,
While memory like a wounded swan
In sorrow sung love's lore.
When tryst and trust were o'er,
While memory like a wounded swan
In sorrow sung love's lore.
I lingered till the whippoorwill
Had cried delicious pain
Over the wild-wood—in its thrill
I heard your voice again.
Had cried delicious pain
Over the wild-wood—in its thrill
I heard your voice again.
I lingered and the mellow breeze
Blew to me sweetly dewed—
Its touch awoke the sorceries
Your last caresses brewed.
Blew to me sweetly dewed—
Its touch awoke the sorceries
Your last caresses brewed.
But when the night with silent start
Had sown her starry seed,
The harvest which sprang in my heart
Was loneliness and need.
Had sown her starry seed,
The harvest which sprang in my heart
Was loneliness and need.
STORM-TWILIGHT
Tossing, swirling, swept by the wind,
Beaten abaft by the rain,
The swallows high in the sodden sky
Circle oft and again.
Beaten abaft by the rain,
The swallows high in the sodden sky
Circle oft and again.
They rise and sink and drift and swing,
Twitterless in the chill;
A-haste, for stark is the coming dark
Over the wet of the hill.
Twitterless in the chill;
A-haste, for stark is the coming dark
Over the wet of the hill.
Wildly, swiftly, at last they stream
Into their chimney home.
A livid gash in the west, a crash—
Then silence, sadness, gloam.
Into their chimney home.
A livid gash in the west, a crash—
Then silence, sadness, gloam.
WILDNESS
To drift with the drifting clouds,
And blow with the blow of breezes,
To ripple with waves and murmur with caves,
To soar, as the sea-mew pleases!
And blow with the blow of breezes,
To ripple with waves and murmur with caves,
To soar, as the sea-mew pleases!
To dip with the dipping sails,
And burn with the burning heaven—
My life! my soul! for the infinite roll
Of a day to wildness given!
And burn with the burning heaven—
My life! my soul! for the infinite roll
Of a day to wildness given!
BEFORE AUTUMN
Summer's last moon has waned—
Waned
As amber fires
Of an Aztec shrine.
The invisible breath of coming death has stained
The withering leaves with its nepenthean wine—
Autumn's near.
Waned
As amber fires
Of an Aztec shrine.
The invisible breath of coming death has stained
The withering leaves with its nepenthean wine—
Autumn's near.
Winds in the woodland moan—
Moan
As memories
Of a chilling yore.
Magnolia seeds like Indian beads are strewn
From crimson pods along the earth's sere floor—
Autumn's near.
Moan
As memories
Of a chilling yore.
Magnolia seeds like Indian beads are strewn
From crimson pods along the earth's sere floor—
Autumn's near.
Solitude slowly steals,
Steals
Her silent way
By the songless brook.
At the gnarly yoke of a solemn oak she kneels,
The musing joy of sadness in her look—
Autumn's near.
Steals
Her silent way
By the songless brook.
At the gnarly yoke of a solemn oak she kneels,
The musing joy of sadness in her look—
Autumn's near.
Yes, with her golden days—
Days
When hope and toil
Are at peace and rest—
Autumn is near, and the tired year 'mid praise
Lies down with leaf and blossom on her breast—
Autumn's near.
Days
When hope and toil
Are at peace and rest—
Autumn is near, and the tired year 'mid praise
Lies down with leaf and blossom on her breast—
Autumn's near.
FULFILMENT
A-bask in the mellow beauty of the ripening sun,
Sad with the lingering sense of summer's purpose done,
The cut and searing fields stretch from me one by one
Along the creek.
Sad with the lingering sense of summer's purpose done,
The cut and searing fields stretch from me one by one
Along the creek.
The corn-stooks drop their shadows down the fallow hill;
Wearing autumnal warmth the farm sleeps by the mill,
Around each heavy eave low smoke hangs blue and still—
Life's flow is weak.
Wearing autumnal warmth the farm sleeps by the mill,
Around each heavy eave low smoke hangs blue and still—
Life's flow is weak.
Along the weedy roads and lanes I walk—or pause—
Ponder a fallen nut or quirking crow whose caws
Seem with prehuman hintings fraught or ancient awes
Of forest-deeps.
Ponder a fallen nut or quirking crow whose caws
Seem with prehuman hintings fraught or ancient awes
Of forest-deeps.
Of forest deeps the pale-face hunter never trod,
Nor Indian, with the silent stealth of Nature shod;
Deeps tense with the timelessness and solitude of God
Who never sleeps.
Nor Indian, with the silent stealth of Nature shod;
Deeps tense with the timelessness and solitude of God
Who never sleeps.
And many times has Autumn, on her harvest way,
Gathered again into the earth leaf, fruit, and spray;
Here many times dwelt rueful as she dwells to-day,
The while she reaps.
Gathered again into the earth leaf, fruit, and spray;
Here many times dwelt rueful as she dwells to-day,
The while she reaps.