Resistless fate and iron destinyAre writ upon the tide—its branded mark.It comes and goes heedless of wind or bark,Nature's untamed and tameless energy.So rolls the cycle of eternity,—Days, months, and years—faint shadows on the arcWithin our human ken—rush from the darkAnd speed return as God's own mystery.I on this tide-beat shore, and clutching time,Marvel of what account my selfhood's will,—'Gainst timeless might time's impotence is laid!And through my inmost soul, as at the prime,A voice from out the awesome vast doth thrill:"O man, thou art in God's own image made!"
Resistless fate and iron destinyAre writ upon the tide—its branded mark.It comes and goes heedless of wind or bark,Nature's untamed and tameless energy.So rolls the cycle of eternity,—Days, months, and years—faint shadows on the arcWithin our human ken—rush from the darkAnd speed return as God's own mystery.I on this tide-beat shore, and clutching time,Marvel of what account my selfhood's will,—'Gainst timeless might time's impotence is laid!And through my inmost soul, as at the prime,A voice from out the awesome vast doth thrill:"O man, thou art in God's own image made!"
Resistless fate and iron destinyAre writ upon the tide—its branded mark.It comes and goes heedless of wind or bark,Nature's untamed and tameless energy.So rolls the cycle of eternity,—Days, months, and years—faint shadows on the arcWithin our human ken—rush from the darkAnd speed return as God's own mystery.
I on this tide-beat shore, and clutching time,Marvel of what account my selfhood's will,—'Gainst timeless might time's impotence is laid!And through my inmost soul, as at the prime,A voice from out the awesome vast doth thrill:"O man, thou art in God's own image made!"
Exquisite thing soft cradled by the tide,Sprung not from lathe or wheel or human wit,Wonder of whorls which touch the infinite,—Shallop that waits a brave undine's white bride!Within, the smooth and sheeny walls are dyedWith the pure pink of autumn dawns alit;Without, with stories of the deep o'er-writ,—How fairy slight the thunderous seas to ride!The massy tides gride over reef and ledge,And sudden waves from fell EuroclydonDash to swift death the sailor in the Bay;But this, all lipt with pearl, and on the edgeOf doom—the fingers of a babe might slay—Sleeps in the stressful surge at Blomidon.
Exquisite thing soft cradled by the tide,Sprung not from lathe or wheel or human wit,Wonder of whorls which touch the infinite,—Shallop that waits a brave undine's white bride!Within, the smooth and sheeny walls are dyedWith the pure pink of autumn dawns alit;Without, with stories of the deep o'er-writ,—How fairy slight the thunderous seas to ride!The massy tides gride over reef and ledge,And sudden waves from fell EuroclydonDash to swift death the sailor in the Bay;But this, all lipt with pearl, and on the edgeOf doom—the fingers of a babe might slay—Sleeps in the stressful surge at Blomidon.
Exquisite thing soft cradled by the tide,Sprung not from lathe or wheel or human wit,Wonder of whorls which touch the infinite,—Shallop that waits a brave undine's white bride!Within, the smooth and sheeny walls are dyedWith the pure pink of autumn dawns alit;Without, with stories of the deep o'er-writ,—How fairy slight the thunderous seas to ride!
The massy tides gride over reef and ledge,And sudden waves from fell EuroclydonDash to swift death the sailor in the Bay;But this, all lipt with pearl, and on the edgeOf doom—the fingers of a babe might slay—Sleeps in the stressful surge at Blomidon.
In white-spruce bower, with outlook on the sea,Kingcups and daisies dancing down the slope,And broad-winged ships, world-messengers of hope,Furling their plumes or lifting them all freeTo catch the skyey airs—here 'tis that weOft watch the fringes of the tide, where opeThe swinging doors through which all blind-fold gropeThe muffled waves of shoreless mystery.The touch of two vast worlds is on us now.Our spirits hear the ebb and flow unseenOf swift commingling tides of far and near,—The low sweet murmur of the early vow,Commerce of life's strange sea, on wing between,And folding plumes arrived the heavenly pier.
In white-spruce bower, with outlook on the sea,Kingcups and daisies dancing down the slope,And broad-winged ships, world-messengers of hope,Furling their plumes or lifting them all freeTo catch the skyey airs—here 'tis that weOft watch the fringes of the tide, where opeThe swinging doors through which all blind-fold gropeThe muffled waves of shoreless mystery.The touch of two vast worlds is on us now.Our spirits hear the ebb and flow unseenOf swift commingling tides of far and near,—The low sweet murmur of the early vow,Commerce of life's strange sea, on wing between,And folding plumes arrived the heavenly pier.
In white-spruce bower, with outlook on the sea,Kingcups and daisies dancing down the slope,And broad-winged ships, world-messengers of hope,Furling their plumes or lifting them all freeTo catch the skyey airs—here 'tis that weOft watch the fringes of the tide, where opeThe swinging doors through which all blind-fold gropeThe muffled waves of shoreless mystery.
The touch of two vast worlds is on us now.Our spirits hear the ebb and flow unseenOf swift commingling tides of far and near,—The low sweet murmur of the early vow,Commerce of life's strange sea, on wing between,And folding plumes arrived the heavenly pier.
Thou hast the secret of the fiery dew,Variety and number infiniteAre vestured in thy wavy flakes of white,—Of distance and of space thou hast the clue.Aloof from vapory clouds that fume and spue,Lifting thyself victorious in fightInto the far repose of zonëd light,Thou strivest to attain nirvâna-blue.Mottled, or plumed, or ribbed, or ripple-barred,Encamped upon the unfenced fields of space,Unsullied are thy tents cool-washed in air;And when morn's bugle blows, or sky's new-starred,Thy cohorts wait day's coming, parting face,Like flocks of rosy angels drifting there.
Thou hast the secret of the fiery dew,Variety and number infiniteAre vestured in thy wavy flakes of white,—Of distance and of space thou hast the clue.Aloof from vapory clouds that fume and spue,Lifting thyself victorious in fightInto the far repose of zonëd light,Thou strivest to attain nirvâna-blue.Mottled, or plumed, or ribbed, or ripple-barred,Encamped upon the unfenced fields of space,Unsullied are thy tents cool-washed in air;And when morn's bugle blows, or sky's new-starred,Thy cohorts wait day's coming, parting face,Like flocks of rosy angels drifting there.
Thou hast the secret of the fiery dew,Variety and number infiniteAre vestured in thy wavy flakes of white,—Of distance and of space thou hast the clue.Aloof from vapory clouds that fume and spue,Lifting thyself victorious in fightInto the far repose of zonëd light,Thou strivest to attain nirvâna-blue.
Mottled, or plumed, or ribbed, or ripple-barred,Encamped upon the unfenced fields of space,Unsullied are thy tents cool-washed in air;And when morn's bugle blows, or sky's new-starred,Thy cohorts wait day's coming, parting face,Like flocks of rosy angels drifting there.
And so the strife goes on from age to age,In ceaseless round of victory and defeat:Young Day comes forth, sun-clad, with shining feet,In beauteous pomp, and throws his battle-gage.Grim ancient Night, distraught and blind with rage,Twanging her dreadful bow, flies in retreat,Wrapt round with raven darkness as a sheet,Till from the east she may the duel wage.So Night, pursuing wounded Day, takes breathTo find his blood-stained mantle in the west,And dusks it o'er with plumëd shafts of death.Secure beneath the horizon's verge, in wrathHe wings a Parthian arrow back his path,And dyes with crimson Ethiop's jeweled vest.
And so the strife goes on from age to age,In ceaseless round of victory and defeat:Young Day comes forth, sun-clad, with shining feet,In beauteous pomp, and throws his battle-gage.Grim ancient Night, distraught and blind with rage,Twanging her dreadful bow, flies in retreat,Wrapt round with raven darkness as a sheet,Till from the east she may the duel wage.So Night, pursuing wounded Day, takes breathTo find his blood-stained mantle in the west,And dusks it o'er with plumëd shafts of death.Secure beneath the horizon's verge, in wrathHe wings a Parthian arrow back his path,And dyes with crimson Ethiop's jeweled vest.
And so the strife goes on from age to age,In ceaseless round of victory and defeat:Young Day comes forth, sun-clad, with shining feet,In beauteous pomp, and throws his battle-gage.Grim ancient Night, distraught and blind with rage,Twanging her dreadful bow, flies in retreat,Wrapt round with raven darkness as a sheet,Till from the east she may the duel wage.
So Night, pursuing wounded Day, takes breathTo find his blood-stained mantle in the west,And dusks it o'er with plumëd shafts of death.Secure beneath the horizon's verge, in wrathHe wings a Parthian arrow back his path,And dyes with crimson Ethiop's jeweled vest.
The sibyl's speech breaks from these leafen lips,Moved by soft airs from shadowy spaces blown:"We rear these giant boles amid eclipse,We workmen die, the work abides alone."The day has met the night beneath the sky,And the hot earth put off its robe of flame;Sweet peace and rest come with the night-bird's cry,Sweet rest and peace the herald stars proclaim.'Tis very heaven to taste the wells of sleep,The founts of supersensuous repose!—The sibyl's rune still murmurs on the breeze,The purple night falls thick about the trees,And blessed stars, like lilies white and rose,Burst into bloom on heaven's far azure deep.
The sibyl's speech breaks from these leafen lips,Moved by soft airs from shadowy spaces blown:"We rear these giant boles amid eclipse,We workmen die, the work abides alone."The day has met the night beneath the sky,And the hot earth put off its robe of flame;Sweet peace and rest come with the night-bird's cry,Sweet rest and peace the herald stars proclaim.'Tis very heaven to taste the wells of sleep,The founts of supersensuous repose!—The sibyl's rune still murmurs on the breeze,The purple night falls thick about the trees,And blessed stars, like lilies white and rose,Burst into bloom on heaven's far azure deep.
The sibyl's speech breaks from these leafen lips,Moved by soft airs from shadowy spaces blown:"We rear these giant boles amid eclipse,We workmen die, the work abides alone."The day has met the night beneath the sky,And the hot earth put off its robe of flame;Sweet peace and rest come with the night-bird's cry,Sweet rest and peace the herald stars proclaim.
'Tis very heaven to taste the wells of sleep,The founts of supersensuous repose!—The sibyl's rune still murmurs on the breeze,The purple night falls thick about the trees,And blessed stars, like lilies white and rose,Burst into bloom on heaven's far azure deep.
O seraph bird who on God's altar-stairsDost ring, in showers of silver peals, thy bellsOf song that ceaseless flows like dropping-wells,And sprinkles all the dusk with holy prayers!O welkin glad, shot through and through with song,As upward springs the spirit tipt with flame!'Tis not to Itys dead nor Dian's shameThese joy-pangs, with their hint of tears, belong.The life which pulses in the bursting yearA thousand choirs hymn on the sunlit globe;But, lest the living flame to ashes turn,Thou, in the voiceless night, O priestly seer,Interpreter of nature, tak'st thy robe,And fill'st with vocal fire the sacred urn.
O seraph bird who on God's altar-stairsDost ring, in showers of silver peals, thy bellsOf song that ceaseless flows like dropping-wells,And sprinkles all the dusk with holy prayers!O welkin glad, shot through and through with song,As upward springs the spirit tipt with flame!'Tis not to Itys dead nor Dian's shameThese joy-pangs, with their hint of tears, belong.The life which pulses in the bursting yearA thousand choirs hymn on the sunlit globe;But, lest the living flame to ashes turn,Thou, in the voiceless night, O priestly seer,Interpreter of nature, tak'st thy robe,And fill'st with vocal fire the sacred urn.
O seraph bird who on God's altar-stairsDost ring, in showers of silver peals, thy bellsOf song that ceaseless flows like dropping-wells,And sprinkles all the dusk with holy prayers!O welkin glad, shot through and through with song,As upward springs the spirit tipt with flame!'Tis not to Itys dead nor Dian's shameThese joy-pangs, with their hint of tears, belong.
The life which pulses in the bursting yearA thousand choirs hymn on the sunlit globe;But, lest the living flame to ashes turn,Thou, in the voiceless night, O priestly seer,Interpreter of nature, tak'st thy robe,And fill'st with vocal fire the sacred urn.
'Neath northern skies thou hid'st thy punctual nestBy crystal waters in their lonely play,Meeting the challenge with which instant dayAnd night thy chariness and courage test.Half bird, half spirit!—O elusive questThat thinks thy dappled mould but common clay!Thou wak'st with demon laughter Ha Ha Bay,Art soul of solitariness, unblest.Flash of pure wildness on dusk Saguenay,Awareness of wild nature's subtle breast,Freight and athrill with weirdsome life, yet gay,Thou cleav'st the deluge dense, a wingëd jest!—That rallying mock and jeer's an impish mark—The echo of thy flout of Noah's ark!
'Neath northern skies thou hid'st thy punctual nestBy crystal waters in their lonely play,Meeting the challenge with which instant dayAnd night thy chariness and courage test.Half bird, half spirit!—O elusive questThat thinks thy dappled mould but common clay!Thou wak'st with demon laughter Ha Ha Bay,Art soul of solitariness, unblest.Flash of pure wildness on dusk Saguenay,Awareness of wild nature's subtle breast,Freight and athrill with weirdsome life, yet gay,Thou cleav'st the deluge dense, a wingëd jest!—That rallying mock and jeer's an impish mark—The echo of thy flout of Noah's ark!
'Neath northern skies thou hid'st thy punctual nestBy crystal waters in their lonely play,Meeting the challenge with which instant dayAnd night thy chariness and courage test.Half bird, half spirit!—O elusive questThat thinks thy dappled mould but common clay!Thou wak'st with demon laughter Ha Ha Bay,Art soul of solitariness, unblest.
Flash of pure wildness on dusk Saguenay,Awareness of wild nature's subtle breast,Freight and athrill with weirdsome life, yet gay,Thou cleav'st the deluge dense, a wingëd jest!—That rallying mock and jeer's an impish mark—The echo of thy flout of Noah's ark!
A shining troop of cherubs just alitFrom the low-bending skies,—child faces sweet,Upturned and open to our human greet,—Fresh from the gladsome fount of life emit!Heralds of spring, forewinging, as ye flit,The garland seasons with their sheaves of wheat,And to all listening ears Christ's words repeat:"Man shall not live by bread alone, 'tis writ"!Evangelists fair of the new-made year,This news from God, forgot, blow everywhere,And fill the hollow sky, the haunting air;Till from His loving mouth, as sphere to sphere,Man knows the beautiful, the good, the true,Divinest manna dipt in heavenly dew!
A shining troop of cherubs just alitFrom the low-bending skies,—child faces sweet,Upturned and open to our human greet,—Fresh from the gladsome fount of life emit!Heralds of spring, forewinging, as ye flit,The garland seasons with their sheaves of wheat,And to all listening ears Christ's words repeat:"Man shall not live by bread alone, 'tis writ"!Evangelists fair of the new-made year,This news from God, forgot, blow everywhere,And fill the hollow sky, the haunting air;Till from His loving mouth, as sphere to sphere,Man knows the beautiful, the good, the true,Divinest manna dipt in heavenly dew!
A shining troop of cherubs just alitFrom the low-bending skies,—child faces sweet,Upturned and open to our human greet,—Fresh from the gladsome fount of life emit!Heralds of spring, forewinging, as ye flit,The garland seasons with their sheaves of wheat,And to all listening ears Christ's words repeat:"Man shall not live by bread alone, 'tis writ"!
Evangelists fair of the new-made year,This news from God, forgot, blow everywhere,And fill the hollow sky, the haunting air;Till from His loving mouth, as sphere to sphere,Man knows the beautiful, the good, the true,Divinest manna dipt in heavenly dew!
With gladsome note the robin debonairHeralds bright May. Pale sky and earth-stained snowWarm at the touch of south winds as they blowTheir wafts of life through winter's lingering air.Hid, like some laughing child, shy Mayflower fair,Beneath the leafy shield, with face aglow,Thy pearly self the coy spring's first tableau,Come to the day and yield thy fragrance rare!Ah me! while thrushes pipe and plumy windsFan northward all their balmy fervors sweet,And groves are misty with the reddening bud,A gentle spirit from the past unbindsThe peace of Lethe, and with quickening beatStirs to divine unrest my fevered blood.
With gladsome note the robin debonairHeralds bright May. Pale sky and earth-stained snowWarm at the touch of south winds as they blowTheir wafts of life through winter's lingering air.Hid, like some laughing child, shy Mayflower fair,Beneath the leafy shield, with face aglow,Thy pearly self the coy spring's first tableau,Come to the day and yield thy fragrance rare!Ah me! while thrushes pipe and plumy windsFan northward all their balmy fervors sweet,And groves are misty with the reddening bud,A gentle spirit from the past unbindsThe peace of Lethe, and with quickening beatStirs to divine unrest my fevered blood.
With gladsome note the robin debonairHeralds bright May. Pale sky and earth-stained snowWarm at the touch of south winds as they blowTheir wafts of life through winter's lingering air.Hid, like some laughing child, shy Mayflower fair,Beneath the leafy shield, with face aglow,Thy pearly self the coy spring's first tableau,Come to the day and yield thy fragrance rare!
Ah me! while thrushes pipe and plumy windsFan northward all their balmy fervors sweet,And groves are misty with the reddening bud,A gentle spirit from the past unbindsThe peace of Lethe, and with quickening beatStirs to divine unrest my fevered blood.
Now weave the winds to music of June's lyreTheir bowers of cloud whence odorous blooms are flungFar down the dells and cedarn vales among,—See, lowly plains, sky-touched, to heaven aspire!Now flash the golden robin's plumes with fire,The bobolink is bubbling o'er with song,And leafy trees, Æolian harps new-strung,Murmur far notes blown from some starry choir.My heart thrills like the wilding sap to flowers,And leaps as a swoln brook in summer rainPast meadows green to the great sea untold.O month divine, all fresh with falling showers,Waft, waft from open heaven thy balm for pain,Life and sweet Earth are young, God grows not old!
Now weave the winds to music of June's lyreTheir bowers of cloud whence odorous blooms are flungFar down the dells and cedarn vales among,—See, lowly plains, sky-touched, to heaven aspire!Now flash the golden robin's plumes with fire,The bobolink is bubbling o'er with song,And leafy trees, Æolian harps new-strung,Murmur far notes blown from some starry choir.My heart thrills like the wilding sap to flowers,And leaps as a swoln brook in summer rainPast meadows green to the great sea untold.O month divine, all fresh with falling showers,Waft, waft from open heaven thy balm for pain,Life and sweet Earth are young, God grows not old!
Now weave the winds to music of June's lyreTheir bowers of cloud whence odorous blooms are flungFar down the dells and cedarn vales among,—See, lowly plains, sky-touched, to heaven aspire!Now flash the golden robin's plumes with fire,The bobolink is bubbling o'er with song,And leafy trees, Æolian harps new-strung,Murmur far notes blown from some starry choir.
My heart thrills like the wilding sap to flowers,And leaps as a swoln brook in summer rainPast meadows green to the great sea untold.O month divine, all fresh with falling showers,Waft, waft from open heaven thy balm for pain,Life and sweet Earth are young, God grows not old!
Peasant of northern forests, humble tree,Kirtled and frocked in all-year homespun green,And lacking not among thy kind the mienOf such as bear the white sails gallantly!Magician thou! Thy full-breathed symphonyOf spacious dream dissolves the walls betweenMe now and nature's organ-voicëd queen,The multitudinous ongoing sea!The sheeny garb from thy tall shoulders hung,Making thy spiry form like vase antiqueFor resinous balms of frankincense and myrrh,And round the bearded skirts the drowsy purrOf life, and murmurings of thy sea-harp strung,—Touch thee to kinship fine with Celt and Greek.
Peasant of northern forests, humble tree,Kirtled and frocked in all-year homespun green,And lacking not among thy kind the mienOf such as bear the white sails gallantly!Magician thou! Thy full-breathed symphonyOf spacious dream dissolves the walls betweenMe now and nature's organ-voicëd queen,The multitudinous ongoing sea!The sheeny garb from thy tall shoulders hung,Making thy spiry form like vase antiqueFor resinous balms of frankincense and myrrh,And round the bearded skirts the drowsy purrOf life, and murmurings of thy sea-harp strung,—Touch thee to kinship fine with Celt and Greek.
Peasant of northern forests, humble tree,Kirtled and frocked in all-year homespun green,And lacking not among thy kind the mienOf such as bear the white sails gallantly!Magician thou! Thy full-breathed symphonyOf spacious dream dissolves the walls betweenMe now and nature's organ-voicëd queen,The multitudinous ongoing sea!
The sheeny garb from thy tall shoulders hung,Making thy spiry form like vase antiqueFor resinous balms of frankincense and myrrh,And round the bearded skirts the drowsy purrOf life, and murmurings of thy sea-harp strung,—Touch thee to kinship fine with Celt and Greek.
Like Israel's seer I come from out the earthConfronting with the question air and sky,Why dost thou bring me up?White ghost am IOf that which was God's beauty at its birth.In eld the sun kissed me to ruby red,I held my chalice up to heaven's full view,The wistful stars dropt down their golden dew,And skyey balms exhaled about my bed.Alas, I loved the darkness, not the light!The deadly shadows, not the bending blue,Spoke to my trancëd heart, made false seem true,And drowned my spirit in the deeps of night.O Painter of the flowers, O God most sweet,Dost say my spirit for the light is meet?
Like Israel's seer I come from out the earthConfronting with the question air and sky,Why dost thou bring me up?White ghost am IOf that which was God's beauty at its birth.In eld the sun kissed me to ruby red,I held my chalice up to heaven's full view,The wistful stars dropt down their golden dew,And skyey balms exhaled about my bed.Alas, I loved the darkness, not the light!The deadly shadows, not the bending blue,Spoke to my trancëd heart, made false seem true,And drowned my spirit in the deeps of night.O Painter of the flowers, O God most sweet,Dost say my spirit for the light is meet?
Like Israel's seer I come from out the earthConfronting with the question air and sky,Why dost thou bring me up?White ghost am IOf that which was God's beauty at its birth.In eld the sun kissed me to ruby red,I held my chalice up to heaven's full view,The wistful stars dropt down their golden dew,And skyey balms exhaled about my bed.Alas, I loved the darkness, not the light!The deadly shadows, not the bending blue,Spoke to my trancëd heart, made false seem true,And drowned my spirit in the deeps of night.O Painter of the flowers, O God most sweet,Dost say my spirit for the light is meet?
The full-fed crystal streams from east and westAnd south, thy rich-wrought cup filled to the brim,Till where the northern star soft gilds the rim,Thy waters, called, o'erbroke at love's behest.O to have seen thy cataract's white breast,Rifted with ruth through the lone centuries dim,For toiling Fundy's wooing tide—for himTo blend thy sylvan calm with world unrest!Far floods thy bridal brought, fair lake, brave sea!And late, the wingëd ships—Champlain, De Monts,With Poutrincourt, and sequent games of war.Thy marge, now crowned with peaceful husbandry,And set with England's rose where bloomedfleur d'or,Still croons all day love's wedded tidal song.
The full-fed crystal streams from east and westAnd south, thy rich-wrought cup filled to the brim,Till where the northern star soft gilds the rim,Thy waters, called, o'erbroke at love's behest.O to have seen thy cataract's white breast,Rifted with ruth through the lone centuries dim,For toiling Fundy's wooing tide—for himTo blend thy sylvan calm with world unrest!Far floods thy bridal brought, fair lake, brave sea!And late, the wingëd ships—Champlain, De Monts,With Poutrincourt, and sequent games of war.Thy marge, now crowned with peaceful husbandry,And set with England's rose where bloomedfleur d'or,Still croons all day love's wedded tidal song.
The full-fed crystal streams from east and westAnd south, thy rich-wrought cup filled to the brim,Till where the northern star soft gilds the rim,Thy waters, called, o'erbroke at love's behest.O to have seen thy cataract's white breast,Rifted with ruth through the lone centuries dim,For toiling Fundy's wooing tide—for himTo blend thy sylvan calm with world unrest!Far floods thy bridal brought, fair lake, brave sea!And late, the wingëd ships—Champlain, De Monts,With Poutrincourt, and sequent games of war.Thy marge, now crowned with peaceful husbandry,And set with England's rose where bloomedfleur d'or,Still croons all day love's wedded tidal song.
In autumn's dreamy ear, as suns go byWhose yellow beams are dulled with languorous motes,The deep vibrations of the cosmic notesAre as the voice of those that prophesy.Her spirit kindles, and her filmy eye!In haste the fluttering robe, whose glory floatsIn pictured folds, her eager soul devotes—Lo, she with her winged harper sweeps the sky!Splendors of blossomed time, like poppies red,Distil dull slumbers o'er the engagëd soulAnd thrall with sensuous pomp its azured dower;Till, roused by vibrant touch from the unseen Power,The spirit keen, freed from the painted dead,On wings mounts up to reach its living Goal.
In autumn's dreamy ear, as suns go byWhose yellow beams are dulled with languorous motes,The deep vibrations of the cosmic notesAre as the voice of those that prophesy.Her spirit kindles, and her filmy eye!In haste the fluttering robe, whose glory floatsIn pictured folds, her eager soul devotes—Lo, she with her winged harper sweeps the sky!Splendors of blossomed time, like poppies red,Distil dull slumbers o'er the engagëd soulAnd thrall with sensuous pomp its azured dower;Till, roused by vibrant touch from the unseen Power,The spirit keen, freed from the painted dead,On wings mounts up to reach its living Goal.
In autumn's dreamy ear, as suns go byWhose yellow beams are dulled with languorous motes,The deep vibrations of the cosmic notesAre as the voice of those that prophesy.Her spirit kindles, and her filmy eye!In haste the fluttering robe, whose glory floatsIn pictured folds, her eager soul devotes—Lo, she with her winged harper sweeps the sky!
Splendors of blossomed time, like poppies red,Distil dull slumbers o'er the engagëd soulAnd thrall with sensuous pomp its azured dower;Till, roused by vibrant touch from the unseen Power,The spirit keen, freed from the painted dead,On wings mounts up to reach its living Goal.
Victor is he whose tremulous soul the notesOf starry spaces hears, their far appeal,And cries "Amen!" and sets thereto the sealWith which winged aspiration life devotes!That seal rays golden flame, and bright connotesThe transmutation through the spirit's zealOf earthly passions to the high annealThat rings the harmony that heavenward floats.While other triremes vain withstood the guile,The lyric prow of Orpheus easeful pastIn gladsome scorn's disdain the Sirens' Isle;And proud Calliope o'er each black mastWhispered her thrilling taunt in ears of pain:"I taught my Thracian boy a heavenlier strain!"
Victor is he whose tremulous soul the notesOf starry spaces hears, their far appeal,And cries "Amen!" and sets thereto the sealWith which winged aspiration life devotes!That seal rays golden flame, and bright connotesThe transmutation through the spirit's zealOf earthly passions to the high annealThat rings the harmony that heavenward floats.While other triremes vain withstood the guile,The lyric prow of Orpheus easeful pastIn gladsome scorn's disdain the Sirens' Isle;And proud Calliope o'er each black mastWhispered her thrilling taunt in ears of pain:"I taught my Thracian boy a heavenlier strain!"
Victor is he whose tremulous soul the notesOf starry spaces hears, their far appeal,And cries "Amen!" and sets thereto the sealWith which winged aspiration life devotes!That seal rays golden flame, and bright connotesThe transmutation through the spirit's zealOf earthly passions to the high annealThat rings the harmony that heavenward floats.
While other triremes vain withstood the guile,The lyric prow of Orpheus easeful pastIn gladsome scorn's disdain the Sirens' Isle;And proud Calliope o'er each black mastWhispered her thrilling taunt in ears of pain:"I taught my Thracian boy a heavenlier strain!"
As some grey captain of a merchantship,Whose prosperous voyage o'er the watery strifeHas large concern for all, knows that his wifeWaits his home-coming up the horizon's dipWith holier heart than crowds that throng the slip,So He well knew, thou—flower-elect of life!Chosen from out a clamor of voices rife—Waitedst his voyage o'er with prayerful lip.Fair Bride, forget him not through circling years!But with a Christ-like love, deep as unfeignedSurpassing that of commerce or of state,With holy hands thy dower devote with tearsOf gratitude and loyal heart unstained;Thy sacred vow perform with soul elate.
As some grey captain of a merchantship,Whose prosperous voyage o'er the watery strifeHas large concern for all, knows that his wifeWaits his home-coming up the horizon's dipWith holier heart than crowds that throng the slip,So He well knew, thou—flower-elect of life!Chosen from out a clamor of voices rife—Waitedst his voyage o'er with prayerful lip.Fair Bride, forget him not through circling years!But with a Christ-like love, deep as unfeignedSurpassing that of commerce or of state,With holy hands thy dower devote with tearsOf gratitude and loyal heart unstained;Thy sacred vow perform with soul elate.
As some grey captain of a merchantship,Whose prosperous voyage o'er the watery strifeHas large concern for all, knows that his wifeWaits his home-coming up the horizon's dipWith holier heart than crowds that throng the slip,So He well knew, thou—flower-elect of life!Chosen from out a clamor of voices rife—Waitedst his voyage o'er with prayerful lip.
Fair Bride, forget him not through circling years!But with a Christ-like love, deep as unfeignedSurpassing that of commerce or of state,With holy hands thy dower devote with tearsOf gratitude and loyal heart unstained;Thy sacred vow perform with soul elate.
Nay, Arnold, not "three-fourths" but all "of life"!The ethic spirit that makes conduct so,Slays all mythologies and witchcrafts, lo,False sciences as well, with ruthless knife,Lest intercourse of human souls be rifeWith demi-gods and unclean things below,And work corruption at the founts that flow,From hearts of fellowmen in loving strife.That spirit more than science is the hopeOf man's uplifting, and doth knowledge makeServant of individual, social worth.Not truth for truth's own sake, as tense we copeWith life, but rather truth for love's own sakeCalls forth heaven's plaudit round the girdled earth.
Nay, Arnold, not "three-fourths" but all "of life"!The ethic spirit that makes conduct so,Slays all mythologies and witchcrafts, lo,False sciences as well, with ruthless knife,Lest intercourse of human souls be rifeWith demi-gods and unclean things below,And work corruption at the founts that flow,From hearts of fellowmen in loving strife.That spirit more than science is the hopeOf man's uplifting, and doth knowledge makeServant of individual, social worth.Not truth for truth's own sake, as tense we copeWith life, but rather truth for love's own sakeCalls forth heaven's plaudit round the girdled earth.
Nay, Arnold, not "three-fourths" but all "of life"!The ethic spirit that makes conduct so,Slays all mythologies and witchcrafts, lo,False sciences as well, with ruthless knife,Lest intercourse of human souls be rifeWith demi-gods and unclean things below,And work corruption at the founts that flow,From hearts of fellowmen in loving strife.
That spirit more than science is the hopeOf man's uplifting, and doth knowledge makeServant of individual, social worth.Not truth for truth's own sake, as tense we copeWith life, but rather truth for love's own sakeCalls forth heaven's plaudit round the girdled earth.
Boom, boom, ye mellow joy-bells, like the sea!Peace, peace on earth, good-will! (and all hell gapes!)—Yet immemorial sadness ever drapesThe upward way of far humanity:All prone through dark and strait GethsemaneThou cam'st in blood, a cluster of trod grapes!—O bruisëd race, whose wail so surgeful shapesMelodious sorrow's awful threnody!Late, late, love's Areopagus unfurledRight-reason's sun-glad banner from the height,While rage the Furies in their cave beneath!Hush, hush, it is the daybreak of the world!Man's warring sky is passing out of night,And stark black demons flit with sword in sheath.
Boom, boom, ye mellow joy-bells, like the sea!Peace, peace on earth, good-will! (and all hell gapes!)—Yet immemorial sadness ever drapesThe upward way of far humanity:All prone through dark and strait GethsemaneThou cam'st in blood, a cluster of trod grapes!—O bruisëd race, whose wail so surgeful shapesMelodious sorrow's awful threnody!Late, late, love's Areopagus unfurledRight-reason's sun-glad banner from the height,While rage the Furies in their cave beneath!Hush, hush, it is the daybreak of the world!Man's warring sky is passing out of night,And stark black demons flit with sword in sheath.
Boom, boom, ye mellow joy-bells, like the sea!Peace, peace on earth, good-will! (and all hell gapes!)—Yet immemorial sadness ever drapesThe upward way of far humanity:All prone through dark and strait GethsemaneThou cam'st in blood, a cluster of trod grapes!—O bruisëd race, whose wail so surgeful shapesMelodious sorrow's awful threnody!
Late, late, love's Areopagus unfurledRight-reason's sun-glad banner from the height,While rage the Furies in their cave beneath!Hush, hush, it is the daybreak of the world!Man's warring sky is passing out of night,And stark black demons flit with sword in sheath.
[G. A. G.]
No finished castle is the house of God.The mind of Christ, supremest Architect,Man's puny apprehension doth correctFrom age to age, and turns afresh the sod.The vast historic temple now is trod'Neath loftier roof and heavenlier aspéct;New light, new need, revealed, each ripe defectGoes down beneath man's feet diviner shod.Alas, humanity no more can graspOf thought of the divine Artificer,Than holds of ocean crinkled shell on beach!Yet His unfolding plan in vital claspPossess, O human soul, amid the stirOf speeding worlds Love's flying-goal to reach!
No finished castle is the house of God.The mind of Christ, supremest Architect,Man's puny apprehension doth correctFrom age to age, and turns afresh the sod.The vast historic temple now is trod'Neath loftier roof and heavenlier aspéct;New light, new need, revealed, each ripe defectGoes down beneath man's feet diviner shod.Alas, humanity no more can graspOf thought of the divine Artificer,Than holds of ocean crinkled shell on beach!Yet His unfolding plan in vital claspPossess, O human soul, amid the stirOf speeding worlds Love's flying-goal to reach!
No finished castle is the house of God.The mind of Christ, supremest Architect,Man's puny apprehension doth correctFrom age to age, and turns afresh the sod.The vast historic temple now is trod'Neath loftier roof and heavenlier aspéct;New light, new need, revealed, each ripe defectGoes down beneath man's feet diviner shod.
Alas, humanity no more can graspOf thought of the divine Artificer,Than holds of ocean crinkled shell on beach!Yet His unfolding plan in vital claspPossess, O human soul, amid the stirOf speeding worlds Love's flying-goal to reach!
"O the brightness, clearness, beauty of heaven!Seer Ben Nachmani," Rabbi Levi said,"Of the Hagada Master thou of seven,Would that I knew whence Light, its fountainhead?"The Master whispered in the Rabbi's ear:"The Holy One, blessëd be He, in whiteHimself doth robe, and then the whole world clearIn beauty glows with His majestic light.""Sayest thou so? That's word for word the psalm:'The light Thy garment is which Thou dost wear.'Thou tell'st it here a secret 'neath the palm,O Master thou of seven with whitened hair!"And softer fell the Master's whispered word:"I heard it this; O Rabbi, hast thou heard?"
"O the brightness, clearness, beauty of heaven!Seer Ben Nachmani," Rabbi Levi said,"Of the Hagada Master thou of seven,Would that I knew whence Light, its fountainhead?"The Master whispered in the Rabbi's ear:"The Holy One, blessëd be He, in whiteHimself doth robe, and then the whole world clearIn beauty glows with His majestic light.""Sayest thou so? That's word for word the psalm:'The light Thy garment is which Thou dost wear.'Thou tell'st it here a secret 'neath the palm,O Master thou of seven with whitened hair!"And softer fell the Master's whispered word:"I heard it this; O Rabbi, hast thou heard?"
"O the brightness, clearness, beauty of heaven!Seer Ben Nachmani," Rabbi Levi said,"Of the Hagada Master thou of seven,Would that I knew whence Light, its fountainhead?"The Master whispered in the Rabbi's ear:"The Holy One, blessëd be He, in whiteHimself doth robe, and then the whole world clearIn beauty glows with His majestic light.""Sayest thou so? That's word for word the psalm:'The light Thy garment is which Thou dost wear.'Thou tell'st it here a secret 'neath the palm,O Master thou of seven with whitened hair!"
And softer fell the Master's whispered word:"I heard it this; O Rabbi, hast thou heard?"
In the old days Vannucci, color-dowered,Lit up young eyes with vision large and pure,That gathered in its iris-glow the lureOf sea and sky, and beauty earth-embowered;And Rafael Santi on the master showeredThe rich-hued passion of his soul, secureIn art that should for evermore endure,—But as he wrought his vision was defloured.For sake of art divine a seer bright-stoled,Whose eyes had drunk the steadfast splendors trueOf sacred gems, this precious secret told:"Oft sight of these doth color-sense renew!"Ah thus, true soul assoiled of life, thou ey'st,Mid thy enduring work, the quickening Christ!
In the old days Vannucci, color-dowered,Lit up young eyes with vision large and pure,That gathered in its iris-glow the lureOf sea and sky, and beauty earth-embowered;And Rafael Santi on the master showeredThe rich-hued passion of his soul, secureIn art that should for evermore endure,—But as he wrought his vision was defloured.For sake of art divine a seer bright-stoled,Whose eyes had drunk the steadfast splendors trueOf sacred gems, this precious secret told:"Oft sight of these doth color-sense renew!"Ah thus, true soul assoiled of life, thou ey'st,Mid thy enduring work, the quickening Christ!
In the old days Vannucci, color-dowered,Lit up young eyes with vision large and pure,That gathered in its iris-glow the lureOf sea and sky, and beauty earth-embowered;And Rafael Santi on the master showeredThe rich-hued passion of his soul, secureIn art that should for evermore endure,—But as he wrought his vision was defloured.For sake of art divine a seer bright-stoled,Whose eyes had drunk the steadfast splendors trueOf sacred gems, this precious secret told:"Oft sight of these doth color-sense renew!"
Ah thus, true soul assoiled of life, thou ey'st,Mid thy enduring work, the quickening Christ!
The noonday TruthIn its sevenfold beam,Is the Christ, sandal-shod;Yea, the Truth in warm gleamOf color and shine,Both of age and of youth,As on life's plains and woldsHis soul's prism unfoldsThe white thought of God,In human passion divine.
The noonday TruthIn its sevenfold beam,Is the Christ, sandal-shod;Yea, the Truth in warm gleamOf color and shine,Both of age and of youth,As on life's plains and woldsHis soul's prism unfoldsThe white thought of God,In human passion divine.
The noonday TruthIn its sevenfold beam,Is the Christ, sandal-shod;Yea, the Truth in warm gleamOf color and shine,Both of age and of youth,As on life's plains and woldsHis soul's prism unfoldsThe white thought of God,In human passion divine.
As rising waves, rich jeweled by the sun,In movement link their brilliants each to each,And flash their glories in one crest of light,E'en so, unveiling, the Eternal OneDid shew Himself by signs and glimmering speech,Then flashed in Christ His love-lit glory bright.
As rising waves, rich jeweled by the sun,In movement link their brilliants each to each,And flash their glories in one crest of light,E'en so, unveiling, the Eternal OneDid shew Himself by signs and glimmering speech,Then flashed in Christ His love-lit glory bright.
As rising waves, rich jeweled by the sun,In movement link their brilliants each to each,And flash their glories in one crest of light,E'en so, unveiling, the Eternal OneDid shew Himself by signs and glimmering speech,Then flashed in Christ His love-lit glory bright.
Through skies of molten gold and green the sunFloats with its cloud-wake o'er the glowing rimOf closing day; the same horizon brimGlows green and gold with a glad day begun.So closes life's full day, its guerdon won,To those whose trustful souls are joined to Him—The world's great Light—whose hand the splendors limnAt once of breaking day and day that's done.
Through skies of molten gold and green the sunFloats with its cloud-wake o'er the glowing rimOf closing day; the same horizon brimGlows green and gold with a glad day begun.So closes life's full day, its guerdon won,To those whose trustful souls are joined to Him—The world's great Light—whose hand the splendors limnAt once of breaking day and day that's done.
Through skies of molten gold and green the sunFloats with its cloud-wake o'er the glowing rimOf closing day; the same horizon brimGlows green and gold with a glad day begun.So closes life's full day, its guerdon won,To those whose trustful souls are joined to Him—The world's great Light—whose hand the splendors limnAt once of breaking day and day that's done.
Ben Shalom read one night from out a roll:"Vessel of honor, consecrate ('O soul!')Prepared for every worthy work, and meetFor the Master's use!" And finger on scroll,He prayed aloud: "Make me his silvern bowl!"Lo! Emeth at his side, God's angel fleet:"Yea, in His mansion here; and when unfoldThe everlasting doors, chalice of goldBrimming with His great love—heaven's vintage sweet!"
Ben Shalom read one night from out a roll:"Vessel of honor, consecrate ('O soul!')Prepared for every worthy work, and meetFor the Master's use!" And finger on scroll,He prayed aloud: "Make me his silvern bowl!"Lo! Emeth at his side, God's angel fleet:"Yea, in His mansion here; and when unfoldThe everlasting doors, chalice of goldBrimming with His great love—heaven's vintage sweet!"
Ben Shalom read one night from out a roll:"Vessel of honor, consecrate ('O soul!')Prepared for every worthy work, and meetFor the Master's use!" And finger on scroll,He prayed aloud: "Make me his silvern bowl!"Lo! Emeth at his side, God's angel fleet:"Yea, in His mansion here; and when unfoldThe everlasting doors, chalice of goldBrimming with His great love—heaven's vintage sweet!"
As tiptoe dawn extinguished all the stars,There lay on a fevered flower the cooling dew;Full soon the scornful sun, with white heat glare,Forever bade the offending thing from view;But as day closed, it outshone flaming Mars,Or wheeling splendors of the Northern Bear.
As tiptoe dawn extinguished all the stars,There lay on a fevered flower the cooling dew;Full soon the scornful sun, with white heat glare,Forever bade the offending thing from view;But as day closed, it outshone flaming Mars,Or wheeling splendors of the Northern Bear.
As tiptoe dawn extinguished all the stars,There lay on a fevered flower the cooling dew;Full soon the scornful sun, with white heat glare,Forever bade the offending thing from view;But as day closed, it outshone flaming Mars,Or wheeling splendors of the Northern Bear.
Now are the bridals of the leafy wood,O'er dusky brooks the golden sunbars fall,Birds fan the moonbeams in the balmy dark—Look me! the banners of the holy roodShake in the battle's roar; sweet duty's callWings all my spirit like a soaring lark.
Now are the bridals of the leafy wood,O'er dusky brooks the golden sunbars fall,Birds fan the moonbeams in the balmy dark—Look me! the banners of the holy roodShake in the battle's roar; sweet duty's callWings all my spirit like a soaring lark.
Now are the bridals of the leafy wood,O'er dusky brooks the golden sunbars fall,Birds fan the moonbeams in the balmy dark—Look me! the banners of the holy roodShake in the battle's roar; sweet duty's callWings all my spirit like a soaring lark.
Under the yellow chestnut treeThe children played right merrily.From leafy gold came pattering downThe prickly burs with nuts of brown."I do believe," said bright-eyed May,"We're pelted by some startled fay!For fairies love no tree so wellAs chestnut broad in which to dwell.""Tell us a fairy tale," they said,"A fairy tale," they eager pled,"About the fairies of to-day!"And circled round the wise-eyed May.With air of one who tells new truth,The gentle May, with touch of ruth,This tale of Elfland sweetly told,While all stood deep in autumn's gold:"Long, long ago the fairies foundTheir homes in flowers on the ground.The buttercups were full of them,And pansies sparkled like a gem.But fields by men were often mown,The flowers were plucked as soon as grown.Thus without tents to shed cold dews,The pixies lost their brilliant hues.Their kirtles green and mantles goldWere crushed and torn and smeared with mould.(You should have seen Mab's ermine cape,Draggled in muck till black as crape!)At last, his gossamer hammocks gone,Their daylight king, bright Oberon,(Who could not find two crimson headsOf clover strung with spider-webs)And Mab, the moonlight queen of elvesTook solemn counsel with themselves.'Twas in the early summer daysThey met at twilight all the fays,Under a grove with fronded plumes,Whose trees were white with spikes of blooms.With elfin lance of wild-bee stingStood Oberon, at the outer ring.His knights each wore upon his breastA firefly lamp in beetle's vest.With glow-worm crown of greenish light,Sitting her fairy palfrey white,The queen, by wave of saffron brand,Hushed into silence fairyland.Then with her sandaled foot she prickedHer wasp-sting spur (and palfrey kicked!)—Her moonbeam bridle firm in grip,She plied the silken milkweed whip,And rode straight up the waiting tree,And out each branch its blooms to see.When Mab (her own and palfrey's wingsOf gauzy blue outspread) the ringsOf wistful pixies leapt into,Sitting erect her horse so true,In silvery laughter broke each fay,Like silvery tinkling brook in May.Waving her saffron brand, she said:'Fairies! your future home and bed!'And pointed up the flower-lit tree,—Thither they swarmed as swarms the bee!In turn each bole and fronded roofWas trod by Elf-queen palfrey's hoof,Till fays who bore the flame-wood lamp,Swung in their peaceful airy camp.That was a chestnut grove they found!And as the sunny spring comes round,Queen Mab, when shines the silver moon,And elfin bugles blow in tune,Still rides high up each chestnut tree,That fays may know where safe they'll be,And golden-belted OberonSwing in his hammock like a Don,—For palfrey prints his tiny shoeOn every branch that's wet with dew.My story's told, now for our play!""And is the story true, O May?"With air of one who knows the truth,The sweet-eyed May, tall for her youth,The overhanging branch down drew,And shewed the prints of palfrey's shoe—And laughing said: "Now you all seeWhy it is calledHorse-Chestnut tree."
Under the yellow chestnut treeThe children played right merrily.From leafy gold came pattering downThe prickly burs with nuts of brown."I do believe," said bright-eyed May,"We're pelted by some startled fay!For fairies love no tree so wellAs chestnut broad in which to dwell.""Tell us a fairy tale," they said,"A fairy tale," they eager pled,"About the fairies of to-day!"And circled round the wise-eyed May.With air of one who tells new truth,The gentle May, with touch of ruth,This tale of Elfland sweetly told,While all stood deep in autumn's gold:"Long, long ago the fairies foundTheir homes in flowers on the ground.The buttercups were full of them,And pansies sparkled like a gem.But fields by men were often mown,The flowers were plucked as soon as grown.Thus without tents to shed cold dews,The pixies lost their brilliant hues.Their kirtles green and mantles goldWere crushed and torn and smeared with mould.(You should have seen Mab's ermine cape,Draggled in muck till black as crape!)At last, his gossamer hammocks gone,Their daylight king, bright Oberon,(Who could not find two crimson headsOf clover strung with spider-webs)And Mab, the moonlight queen of elvesTook solemn counsel with themselves.'Twas in the early summer daysThey met at twilight all the fays,Under a grove with fronded plumes,Whose trees were white with spikes of blooms.With elfin lance of wild-bee stingStood Oberon, at the outer ring.His knights each wore upon his breastA firefly lamp in beetle's vest.With glow-worm crown of greenish light,Sitting her fairy palfrey white,The queen, by wave of saffron brand,Hushed into silence fairyland.Then with her sandaled foot she prickedHer wasp-sting spur (and palfrey kicked!)—Her moonbeam bridle firm in grip,She plied the silken milkweed whip,And rode straight up the waiting tree,And out each branch its blooms to see.When Mab (her own and palfrey's wingsOf gauzy blue outspread) the ringsOf wistful pixies leapt into,Sitting erect her horse so true,In silvery laughter broke each fay,Like silvery tinkling brook in May.Waving her saffron brand, she said:'Fairies! your future home and bed!'And pointed up the flower-lit tree,—Thither they swarmed as swarms the bee!In turn each bole and fronded roofWas trod by Elf-queen palfrey's hoof,Till fays who bore the flame-wood lamp,Swung in their peaceful airy camp.That was a chestnut grove they found!And as the sunny spring comes round,Queen Mab, when shines the silver moon,And elfin bugles blow in tune,Still rides high up each chestnut tree,That fays may know where safe they'll be,And golden-belted OberonSwing in his hammock like a Don,—For palfrey prints his tiny shoeOn every branch that's wet with dew.My story's told, now for our play!""And is the story true, O May?"With air of one who knows the truth,The sweet-eyed May, tall for her youth,The overhanging branch down drew,And shewed the prints of palfrey's shoe—And laughing said: "Now you all seeWhy it is calledHorse-Chestnut tree."
Under the yellow chestnut treeThe children played right merrily.
From leafy gold came pattering downThe prickly burs with nuts of brown.
"I do believe," said bright-eyed May,"We're pelted by some startled fay!
For fairies love no tree so wellAs chestnut broad in which to dwell."
"Tell us a fairy tale," they said,"A fairy tale," they eager pled,
"About the fairies of to-day!"And circled round the wise-eyed May.
With air of one who tells new truth,The gentle May, with touch of ruth,
This tale of Elfland sweetly told,While all stood deep in autumn's gold:
"Long, long ago the fairies foundTheir homes in flowers on the ground.
The buttercups were full of them,And pansies sparkled like a gem.
But fields by men were often mown,The flowers were plucked as soon as grown.
Thus without tents to shed cold dews,The pixies lost their brilliant hues.
Their kirtles green and mantles goldWere crushed and torn and smeared with mould.
(You should have seen Mab's ermine cape,Draggled in muck till black as crape!)
At last, his gossamer hammocks gone,Their daylight king, bright Oberon,
(Who could not find two crimson headsOf clover strung with spider-webs)
And Mab, the moonlight queen of elvesTook solemn counsel with themselves.
'Twas in the early summer daysThey met at twilight all the fays,
Under a grove with fronded plumes,Whose trees were white with spikes of blooms.
With elfin lance of wild-bee stingStood Oberon, at the outer ring.
His knights each wore upon his breastA firefly lamp in beetle's vest.
With glow-worm crown of greenish light,Sitting her fairy palfrey white,
The queen, by wave of saffron brand,Hushed into silence fairyland.
Then with her sandaled foot she prickedHer wasp-sting spur (and palfrey kicked!)—
Her moonbeam bridle firm in grip,She plied the silken milkweed whip,
And rode straight up the waiting tree,And out each branch its blooms to see.
When Mab (her own and palfrey's wingsOf gauzy blue outspread) the rings
Of wistful pixies leapt into,Sitting erect her horse so true,
In silvery laughter broke each fay,Like silvery tinkling brook in May.
Waving her saffron brand, she said:'Fairies! your future home and bed!'
And pointed up the flower-lit tree,—Thither they swarmed as swarms the bee!
In turn each bole and fronded roofWas trod by Elf-queen palfrey's hoof,
Till fays who bore the flame-wood lamp,Swung in their peaceful airy camp.
That was a chestnut grove they found!And as the sunny spring comes round,
Queen Mab, when shines the silver moon,And elfin bugles blow in tune,
Still rides high up each chestnut tree,That fays may know where safe they'll be,
And golden-belted OberonSwing in his hammock like a Don,—
For palfrey prints his tiny shoeOn every branch that's wet with dew.
My story's told, now for our play!""And is the story true, O May?"
With air of one who knows the truth,The sweet-eyed May, tall for her youth,
The overhanging branch down drew,And shewed the prints of palfrey's shoe—
And laughing said: "Now you all seeWhy it is calledHorse-Chestnut tree."
[B. B. D.]
At the very dawn of day,My robin from the hill flies down,And from the fence across the way,With black cap on his handsome head,And slatish cloak and vest of red,He calls me from my easeful bed:Dearup, dearup, dear!Cheer up, cheer up, cheer!Constant as the coming morn,He leaves his green fir copse to seeIf I will greet his breezy horn,And share his joy that day is hereTo shimmer the sea, the fog to clear,And yellow the corn of the hasting year:Dearup, dearup, dear!Cheer up, cheer up, cheer!Ah robin, so debonair,So glad of the darkness gone away,So heedful of this heart of care,Sweet to me is your roundelay,Born of a spirit so tender, so gay,—Let me join you in duet for aye!Dear up, dear up, dear!Cheer up, cheer up, cheer!
At the very dawn of day,My robin from the hill flies down,And from the fence across the way,With black cap on his handsome head,And slatish cloak and vest of red,He calls me from my easeful bed:Dearup, dearup, dear!Cheer up, cheer up, cheer!Constant as the coming morn,He leaves his green fir copse to seeIf I will greet his breezy horn,And share his joy that day is hereTo shimmer the sea, the fog to clear,And yellow the corn of the hasting year:Dearup, dearup, dear!Cheer up, cheer up, cheer!Ah robin, so debonair,So glad of the darkness gone away,So heedful of this heart of care,Sweet to me is your roundelay,Born of a spirit so tender, so gay,—Let me join you in duet for aye!Dear up, dear up, dear!Cheer up, cheer up, cheer!
At the very dawn of day,My robin from the hill flies down,And from the fence across the way,With black cap on his handsome head,And slatish cloak and vest of red,He calls me from my easeful bed:Dearup, dearup, dear!Cheer up, cheer up, cheer!
Constant as the coming morn,He leaves his green fir copse to seeIf I will greet his breezy horn,And share his joy that day is hereTo shimmer the sea, the fog to clear,And yellow the corn of the hasting year:Dearup, dearup, dear!Cheer up, cheer up, cheer!
Ah robin, so debonair,So glad of the darkness gone away,So heedful of this heart of care,Sweet to me is your roundelay,Born of a spirit so tender, so gay,—Let me join you in duet for aye!Dear up, dear up, dear!Cheer up, cheer up, cheer!
I hold my secret fast!Sunset I watch, and dawn,Wait the white moonbeam cast,The pall of night down-drawn.Then in the ebon darkI whisper to myself,While every sense doth harkLest blade, or leaf, or elf,Should catch the trembling word,And all the listening airBe to its utmost stirred,The giddy world aware!The willow heedful is,And the titmouse peers at me,The kingcups nod and quizWith an air of mystery;But no one knows at all—I hold my secret fast!The wizard loon may callTill night be overpast,Troops of bright eyes may smile,The people look me o'er,The parson turn the stile,Friends tarry at the door!I hold my secret fast!Sunset I watch, and dawn,See the blue heavens o'ercast,The pall of night down-drawn;And then in raven darkI whisper to myself,—My whitest soul aharkLest blade, or leaf, or elf,Should hear the trembling word,And all the listening airBe to its farthest stirred,The rolling world aware
I hold my secret fast!Sunset I watch, and dawn,Wait the white moonbeam cast,The pall of night down-drawn.Then in the ebon darkI whisper to myself,While every sense doth harkLest blade, or leaf, or elf,Should catch the trembling word,And all the listening airBe to its utmost stirred,The giddy world aware!The willow heedful is,And the titmouse peers at me,The kingcups nod and quizWith an air of mystery;But no one knows at all—I hold my secret fast!The wizard loon may callTill night be overpast,Troops of bright eyes may smile,The people look me o'er,The parson turn the stile,Friends tarry at the door!I hold my secret fast!Sunset I watch, and dawn,See the blue heavens o'ercast,The pall of night down-drawn;And then in raven darkI whisper to myself,—My whitest soul aharkLest blade, or leaf, or elf,Should hear the trembling word,And all the listening airBe to its farthest stirred,The rolling world aware
I hold my secret fast!Sunset I watch, and dawn,Wait the white moonbeam cast,The pall of night down-drawn.Then in the ebon darkI whisper to myself,While every sense doth harkLest blade, or leaf, or elf,Should catch the trembling word,And all the listening airBe to its utmost stirred,The giddy world aware!
The willow heedful is,And the titmouse peers at me,The kingcups nod and quizWith an air of mystery;But no one knows at all—I hold my secret fast!The wizard loon may callTill night be overpast,Troops of bright eyes may smile,The people look me o'er,The parson turn the stile,Friends tarry at the door!
I hold my secret fast!Sunset I watch, and dawn,See the blue heavens o'ercast,The pall of night down-drawn;And then in raven darkI whisper to myself,—My whitest soul aharkLest blade, or leaf, or elf,Should hear the trembling word,And all the listening airBe to its farthest stirred,The rolling world aware
Thought-sudden presenceOut of blank air—Humming of wings!Here—a whisk and a flash!Sipping red balm there—And the silence sings.Thy will works its endIn freedom complete,—Deed flashing in sheen;Forward or backwardAs easeful, as fleet,As a spirit unseen.Plumed gem all athrob,Thy ruby throat burnsAs from the hot kissOf a heaven-smit soulAs it panteth and yearns,In its rapture of bliss!Thing of beauty, of life,Bright wink of a dayWhen we'll be what we are—Freed of this garment's hem!O soul, get thy wings,Find the red balm for aye,(Life of earth and of star!)Flash with love, a live gem!
Thought-sudden presenceOut of blank air—Humming of wings!Here—a whisk and a flash!Sipping red balm there—And the silence sings.Thy will works its endIn freedom complete,—Deed flashing in sheen;Forward or backwardAs easeful, as fleet,As a spirit unseen.Plumed gem all athrob,Thy ruby throat burnsAs from the hot kissOf a heaven-smit soulAs it panteth and yearns,In its rapture of bliss!Thing of beauty, of life,Bright wink of a dayWhen we'll be what we are—Freed of this garment's hem!O soul, get thy wings,Find the red balm for aye,(Life of earth and of star!)Flash with love, a live gem!
Thought-sudden presenceOut of blank air—Humming of wings!Here—a whisk and a flash!Sipping red balm there—And the silence sings.
Thy will works its endIn freedom complete,—Deed flashing in sheen;Forward or backwardAs easeful, as fleet,As a spirit unseen.
Plumed gem all athrob,Thy ruby throat burnsAs from the hot kissOf a heaven-smit soulAs it panteth and yearns,In its rapture of bliss!
Thing of beauty, of life,Bright wink of a dayWhen we'll be what we are—Freed of this garment's hem!O soul, get thy wings,Find the red balm for aye,(Life of earth and of star!)Flash with love, a live gem!