DATES
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 POEMS 
 
 BY 
 
 FLORENCE EARLE COAXES 
 
 BOSTON AND NEW YORK 
 HOUGHTON, MIFFL1N AND COMPANY 
 
 (Cbe fitoerjtfi&e prc00, Cambn&fjc
 
 COrVUGHT, 1898, IV MOOOHTON, MIPTUN AND COMPANY
 
 TO 
 THE DEAR AND HONORED MEMORY 
 
 OF 
 MATTHEW ARNOLD 
 
 612760
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 LIFE I 
 
 POETRY 2 
 
 PROBATION 3 
 
 COMBATANTS 4 
 
 LONGING 6 
 
 SAPPHO 7 
 
 IMMORTAL 8 
 
 COLUMBUS 9 
 
 IN DARKNESS IO 
 
 SONG: "FOR ME THE JASMINE BUDS UNFOLD" .... n 
 
 DIDST THOU REJOICE? 12 
 
 "VICTI RESURGUNT" 13 
 
 MAN 14 
 
 VEILED l6 
 
 AN IDLER l8 
 
 BEFORE THE HOUR 19 
 
 PERDITA 2O 
 
 WOULDST THOU LEARN? 22 
 
 DITTY: "MY TRUE-LOVE'S EYES" 23 
 
 ; 1SRAPHEL 24 
 
 4 FIRST AND LAST 26 
 
 LOVE SAILED AT MORN 2J 
 
 -* BE THOU MY GUIDE 28 
 
 NEAR AND FAR 29 
 
 CORA 31 
 
 LET ME BELIEVE 33 
 
 BY THE CONEMAUGH 34 
 
 A DESCANT 36 
 
 TO THE TSAR (1890) 37
 
 vi CONTENTS 
 
 THERE'S A SPOT IN THK MOUNTAINS 39 
 
 DU MAUR1BR 4 1 
 
 CONSCIENCE 4 3 
 
 DAMIMS 43 
 
 \ I NCONQUBRED 47 
 
 IN APRIL 48 
 
 SURVIVAL 49 
 
 TENNYSON SO 
 
 ' THE HEART OF LOVK S 1 
 
 ALEXANDER 111 5> 
 
 SONG: "HER CHEEK is LIKE A TINTED ROSE" .... 54 
 
 HE LAND Or PROMISE 55 
 
 PSYCHE 56 
 
 * PILGRIMAGE 58 
 
 MA BELLE 59 
 
 DRYAD SONG 6l 
 
 MORNING 64 
 
 A TOMB IN TUSCANY 65 
 
 HE AND I 67 
 
 THE LITTLE LASS 68 
 
 MIGHT I RETURN JO 
 
 WATER LILIES 71 
 
 LOVE HAS NO POKS 7a 
 
 HYLAS 73 
 
 ADIEU 78 
 
 OCTOBER So 
 
 IN THE WOOD 8l 
 
 4 SONG: "FRIENDSHIP FROM ITS MOORINGS STRAYS" . . 82 
 
 LAMENT OF BRtiNNHILDK 83 
 
 MfSIC 86 
 
 TOO LATE 87 
 
 THE CHRYSANTHEMUM 88 
 
 WINGS 89 
 
 Tin LIBERTY-BELL 90 
 
 VAGRANT 93 
 
 THOUGH THOU MAST CLIMBED 93 
 
 AUTUMN .* . . . 94
 
 
 CONTENTS vii 
 
 IN A COLLEGE SETTLEMENT 95 
 
 A VALENTINE 97 
 
 FRIENDS TO VIRTUE 98 
 
 IN WINTER 100 
 
 ACHILLES 101 
 
 A DEBUTANTE IO2 
 
 GREATNESS 104 
 
 SUPPLIANT 105 
 
 A ROSE 106 
 
 REVEILLE 107 
 
 TRUE LOVE Io8 
 
 EASTER 109 
 
 ART Ill 
 
 SONG: "THE NEW-BORN LEAVES UNFOLDING FAST" . . 113 
 
 A MAID'S DEFENSE ii4 
 
 ^ REJECTED 115 
 
 AT BREAK OF DAY Il6 
 
 >/ HOMEWARD 117 
 
 TO-MORROW Il8 
 
 SIBERIA 119 
 
 VICTORY 120 
 
 * STANZA: "THE VOICES OF ALL WATERS" 121 
 
 I DEATH 122 
 
 SONG: "IF LOVE WERE NOT" 123 
 
 LIMITATION 124 
 
 - RHAPSODY 125 
 
 TO FRANCE 126 
 
 LIFE 128 
 
 s THE IDEAL 129 
 
 NANSEN IJO 
 
 TO THE VICTOR 131 
 
 LOVE CONQUERS DEATH 132 
 
 MEMORIA 133 
 
 THROUGH THE RUSHES 134 
 
 INDIA 136
 
 POEMS 
 
 LIFE 
 
 BEFORE we knew thee thou wert with us ; ay, 
 In that far time, forgotten and obscure, 
 When, doubtful of ourselves, of naught secure, 
 We feebly uttered first our human cry. 
 
 We had not murmured hadst thou passed us by, 
 And now, with all our vaunted knowledge sure, 
 We know not from what source of bounty pure 
 Thou earnest, our dull clay to glorify. 
 
 Yet for thou didst awake us when but dust, 
 Careless of thee one tender hope redeems 
 Each loss by the dark river : more and more 
 
 We feel that we who long for thee may trust 
 To wake again, as children do from dreams, 
 And find thee waiting on the farther shore. 
 i
 
 POETRY 
 
 ONE spot of green, watered by hidden streams, 
 Makes summer in the desert where it gleams ; 
 And mortals, gazing on thy heavenly face, 
 Forget the woes of earth, and share thy dreams !
 
 PROBATION 
 
 FULL slow to part with her best gifts is Fate ; 
 The choicest fruitage comes not with the spring, 
 But still for summer's mellowing touch must wait, 
 For storms and tears, which season'd excellence 
 
 bring; 
 
 And Love doth fix his joyfullest estate 
 In hearts that have been hushed 'neath Sorrow's 
 
 brooding wing. 
 
 Youth sues to Fame : coldly she answers, " Toil ! " 
 He sighs for Nature's treasures : with reserve 
 Responds the goddess, " Woo them from the soil." 
 Then fervently he cries, " Thee will I serve, 
 Thee only, blissful Love ! " With proud recoil 
 The heavenly boy replies, "To serve me well, 
 deserve ! " 
 
 3
 
 COMBATANTS 
 
 HE seemed to call me, and I shrank dismayed, 
 Deeming he threatened all I held most dear ; 
 
 But when at last his summons I obeyed, 
 Perplexed and full of fear, 
 
 I found upon his face no angry frown, 
 Only a visor down. 
 
 Indignant that his voice, so calm and sweet, 
 In my despite, unto my soul appealed, 
 
 I cried, " If thou hast courage, turn and meet 
 A foeman full revealed ! " 
 
 And with determined zeal that made me strong, 
 Contended with him long. 
 
 But oh, the armor he so meekly bore 
 
 Was wrought for him in other worlds than ours ! 
 In firm defense of what he battled for, 
 
 Were leagued eternal powers I 
 I fell ; yet overwhelmed by my disgrace, 
 
 At last I saw his face. 
 
 And in its matchless beauty I forgot 
 The constant service to my pledges due, 
 
 4
 
 COMBATANTS 
 
 And, with adoring love that sorrowed not, 
 
 Entreated, " Tell me who 
 Hath so o'erthrown my will and pride of youth ! " 
 
 He answered, " I am Truth."
 
 LONGING 
 
 THE lilacs blossom at the door, 
 
 The early rose 
 Whispers a promise to her buds, 
 
 And they unclose. 
 
 There is a perfume everywhere, 
 
 A breath of song, 
 A sense of some divine return 
 
 For waiting long. 
 
 Who knows but some imprisoned joy 
 From bondage breaks, 
 
 Some exiled and enchanted hope 
 From dreams awakes ? 
 
 Who knows but you are coming back 
 
 To comfort me 
 For all the languor and the pain, 
 
 Persephone ? 
 
 O come I For one brief spring return, 
 
 Love's tryst to keep ; 
 Then let me share the Stygian fruit, 
 
 The wintry sleep 1 
 6
 
 SAPPHO 
 
 As a wan weaver in an attic dim, 
 Hopeless yet patient, so he may be fed 
 With scanty store of sorrow-seasoned bread, 
 Heareth a blithe bird carol over him, 
 And sees no longer walls and rafters grim, 
 But rural lanes where little feet are led 
 Through springing flowers, fields with clover 
 
 spread, 
 Clouds, swan-like, that o'er depths of azure 
 
 swim, 
 
 So, when upon our earth-dulled ear new breaks 
 Some fragment, Sappho, of thy skyey song, 
 A noble wonder in our souls awakes ; 
 The deathless Beautiful draws strangely nigh, 
 And we look up, and marvel how so long 
 We were content to drudge for sordid joys that 
 die. 
 
 7
 
 IMMORTAL 
 
 LIFE is like a beauteous flower, 
 Closing to the world at even, 
 
 Closing for a dreamless hour, 
 To unfold, with dawn, on heaven. 
 
 Life is like a bird that nests 
 Close to earth, no shelter scorning, 
 
 Yet, upmounting from her breast, 
 Fills the skies with song at morning. 
 8
 
 COLUMBUS 
 
 VICEROY they made him, Admiral and Don, 
 
 Wishing good King and Queen ! to honor 
 
 him 
 Whose deeds should make all like distinctions 
 
 dim. 
 
 Columbus ! Other title needs he none. 
 And they in wisdom more than kingship 
 
 blest 
 
 Go down to future days, remembered best 
 For service rendered to that lowly one. 
 
 Columbus ! With proud love, yet reverently, 
 Pronounce that name, the name of one who 
 
 heard 
 
 A word of life, and, answering that word, 
 Braved death, unf earing, on the Shadow}' Sea; 
 Who seeking land not known to any chart, 
 That land by faith deep graven on his heart 
 Found justice, truth, and human liberty ! 
 9
 
 IN DARKNESS 
 
 I WILL be still ; 
 The terror drawing nigh 
 Shall startle from my lips no coward cry ; 
 Nay, though the night my deadliest dread fulfill, 
 
 I will be still. 
 
 For, oh ! I know, 
 Though suffering hours delay, 
 Yet to Eternity they pass away, 
 Carrying something onward as they flow, 
 
 Outlasting woe 1 
 
 Yes, something won ; 
 The harvest of our tears, 
 Something unfading, plucked from fading years ; 
 Something to blossom on beyond the sun, 
 
 From Sorrow won. 
 
 The agony 
 
 So hopeless now of balm 
 Shall sleep at last, in light as pure and calm 
 As that wherewith the stars look down on thee, 
 
 Gethscmane. 
 10
 
 SONG 
 
 FOR me the jasmine buds unfold 
 
 And silver daisies star the lea, 
 The crocus hoards the sunset gold, 
 
 And the wild rose breathes for me. 
 I feel the sap through the bough returning, 
 
 I share the skylark's transport fine, 
 I know the fountain's wayward yearning, 
 
 I love, and the world is mine ! 
 
 I love, and thoughts that sometime grieved, 
 
 Still well remembered, grieve not me ; 
 From all that darkened and deceived 
 
 Upsoars my spirit free. 
 For soft the hours repeat one story, 
 
 Sings the sea one strain divine ; 
 My clouds arise all flushed with glory, 
 
 I love, and the world is mine ! 
 ii
 
 DIDST THOU REJOICE? 
 
 DIDST thou rejoice because the day was fair, 
 Because, in orient splendor newly dressed, 
 On flowering glebe and bloomless mountain-crest 
 The sun complacent smiled? Ah! didst thou 
 
 dare 
 The careless rapture of that bird to share 
 
 Which, soaring toward the dawn from dewy nest, 
 Hailed it with song ? From Ocean's treacherous 
 
 breast 
 
 Didst borrow the repose mild-mirrored there ? 
 Thou foolish heart I Behold ! the light is spent ; 
 Rude thunders shake the crags ; songs timorous 
 
 cease ; 
 
 Lo ! with what moan and mutinous lament 
 Ocean his pent-up passions doth release I 
 O thou who seekest sure and fixed content, 
 Search in thy soul : there find some source of 
 peace. 
 
 ta
 
 "VICTI RESURGUNT" 
 
 HEROES with eloquent flags unfurled 
 
 Have trumpeted loudly their just elation, 
 
 But the voice that hath sunk to the heart of the 
 
 world 
 Is the voice of renunciation. 
 
 It nothing vaunts, nor with idle sound 
 
 Perplexes the currents of human feeling, 
 
 But speaks with the accent and note profound 
 Of deep unto deep appealing. 
 
 And Earth who worships her victims slain 
 To faith's redeeming doth first awaken, 
 
 Recalling who, giving themselves in vain, 
 Seemed, even in death, forsaken ! 
 13
 
 MAN 
 
 I WAS born as free as the silvery light 
 
 That laughs in a Southern fountain ; 
 Free as the sea-fed bird that nests 
 
 On a Scandinavian mountain, 
 Free as the wind that mocks at the sway 
 
 And pinioning clasp of another, 
 Yet in the slave they scourged to-day 
 
 I saw and knew my brother 1 
 
 Vested in purple I sat apart, 
 
 But the cord that smote him bruised me ; 
 I closed my ears, but the sob that broke 
 
 From his savage breast accused me ; 
 No phrase of reasoning judgment just 
 
 The plaint of my soul could smother, 
 A creature vile, abased to the dust, 
 
 I knew him still my brother. 
 
 And the autumn day that had smiled so fair 
 Seemed suddenly overclouded ; 
 
 A gloom, more dreadful than Nature owns, 
 My human mind enshrouded ; 
 14
 
 MAN I 
 
 I thought of the power benign that made 
 And bound men one to the other, 
 
 And I felt in my brother's fear afraid, 
 And ashamed in the shame of my brother.
 
 VEILED 
 
 Is the promise of day merely darkness, 
 
 Is sleep full fruition for strife, 
 Is the grave compensation for sorrow, 
 
 Is Nirvana the answer to life ? 
 
 Is there no unobscured revelation 
 
 The evil of Earth to explain, 
 No word of compassion to soften 
 
 The terrible riddle of pain ? 
 
 In cold, imperturbable silence 
 
 The planets revolve in their course, 
 
 And Nature is deaf to entreaty, 
 
 Untroubled by doubt or remorse ; 
 
 The snows, far outspread on her mountains, 
 Dissolve, nor her mandate gainsay, 
 
 And the cloud is consumed at her bidding 
 And vanishcth quickly away. 
 
 And Man ? shall he fade like the cloud-wreath, 
 And waste, unresisting, like snow, 
 
 Nor learn of the place whence he journeyed, 
 Nor guess whcreunto be must go ? 
 16
 
 VEILED 17 
 
 Alas ! after nights spent in searching, 
 
 After days and years, what can he tell, 
 
 What imagine of mysteries higher 
 
 Than heaven, and deeper than hell ? 
 
 At end of the difficult journey, 
 
 With restless inquiries so rife, 
 He knows what his spirit discovered 
 
 At the shadowy threshold of life ; 
 
 He feels what the tenderness beaming 
 From eyes bending, wistful, above, 
 
 Revealed to his heart when an infant, 
 The care, unforgetting, of love ! 
 
 The hawk toward the south her wings stretcheth, 
 
 The eagle ascendeth the sky ; 
 They know not the Guide who conducts them, 
 
 Yet onward, unerring, they fly : 
 
 In the desert the dew falleth gently, 
 
 In the desert where no man is ; 
 And the herb wisteth not who hath sent it, 
 
 But the herb and the dew, both are His I
 
 AN IDLER 
 
 SHE cannot wind the distaff, 
 She can nor bake nor brew ; 
 
 Her hands are indeed too dainty 
 Such labors to pursue. 
 
 She cares not to follow the harvest, 
 She neither can sow nor glean, 
 
 But waits for the weary reapers 
 With cheerful calm serene. 
 
 Commanding all to serve her, 
 From service she is free ; 
 
 But, ah, my babe so helpless 
 Is health and wealth to me I 
 18
 
 BEFORE THE HOUR 
 
 UNTIMELY blossom ! Poor, impatient thing, 
 That, starting rashly from the sheltering mould, 
 Bravest the peevish wind and sullen cold, 
 Mistaking thine own ardors for the spring, 
 
 Thou to my heart a memory dost bring 
 
 Of hopes once fair like thee, like thee too bold 
 To breathe their fragrance, and their flowers un 
 fold, 
 That droop'd, of wintry rigors languishing. 
 
 Nor birds, nor bees, nor waters murmuring low, 
 Nor breezes blown from dewy Arcady, 
 Found they, earth's welcome waiting to be 
 stow; 
 
 Yet sweet, they felt, sweeter than dreams, would be 
 The summer they had sought too soon to know, 
 The summer they should never live to see ! 
 19
 
 PERDITA 
 
 (ON SEEING MISS ANDERSON IN THE R6LE) 
 
 SHE dances, 
 And I seem to be 
 In primrose vales of Sicily, 
 Beside the streams once looked upon 
 By Thyrsis and by Corydon : 
 The sunlight laughs as she advances, 
 
 Shyly the zephyrs kiss her hair, 
 And she seems to me as the wood-fawn, free, 
 And as the wild rose, fair. 
 
 Dance, Perdita 1 and shepherds, blow 1 
 
 Your reeds restrain no longer 1 
 Till weald and welkin gleeful ring, 
 Blow, shepherds, blow ! and, lasses, sing, 
 
 Yet sweeter strains and stronger t 
 Let far Helorus softer flow 
 'Twixt rushy banks, that he may hear ; 
 Let Pan, great Pan himself, draw near ! 
 
 Stately 
 
 She moves, half smiling 
 With girlish look beguiling, 
 
 o
 
 PERDITA 21 
 
 A dawn-like grace in all her face ; 
 Stately she moves, sedately, 
 Through the crowd circling round her ; 
 
 But swift as light 
 
 See ! she takes flight ! 
 Empty, alas ! is her place. 
 
 Follow her, follow her, let her not go ! 
 Mirth ended so 
 Why, 't is but woe ! 
 Follow her, follow her ! Perdita ! lo, 
 
 Love hath with wreaths enwound her ! 
 
 She dances, 
 And I seem to see 
 The nymph divine, Terpsichore, 
 As when her beauty dazzling shone 
 On eerie heights of Helicon. 
 With bursts of song her voice entrances 
 
 The dreamy, blossom-scented air, 
 And she seems to me as the wood-fawn, free, 
 And as the wild rose, fair.
 
 WOULDST THOU LEARN 
 
 WOULDST thou learn what coldness is, 
 'Seek it not where Hebrus flows, 
 
 Shuddering, to the abyss ; 
 
 Nor where Hermon's gleaming snows, 
 On its frozen heights, repose ; 
 
 But on such a morn as this, 
 When no blade of grass is dumb, 
 
 When the birds, low-twittering, build, 
 
 And Earth's heart is passion-thrill'd, 
 Come to Love's deserted home 1 
 22
 
 DITTY: MY TRUE-LOVE'S EYES 
 
 MY true-love's eyes are a surprise 
 
 To put an end to ranging ; 
 They vary so, come weal, come woe, 
 
 One can but watch their changing ! 
 
 Sometimes they shine with light divine, 
 Twin deeps where moonbeams hover, 
 
 Anon they seem like stars agleam, 
 With laughter brimming over. 
 
 My true-love's mouth is as the south 
 
 In time of blossom, sunny ; 
 A rose, in death, bequeathed it breath, 
 
 And bees have lent it honey. 
 
 But oh, her heart is still the art, 
 
 The magic fresh and living, 
 That wins the free her slaves to be 
 
 By its own gift of giving ! 
 23
 
 ISRAPHEL 1 
 
 A DREAMER midst the stars doth dwell, 
 Known to the gods as Israphel. 
 
 His heart-strings are a lute ; 
 And when, the magic notes outpouring, 
 He parts his lips, the gods, adoring, 
 
 Listen in transport mute, 
 Subdued and softened by the spell 
 Of the dreamer, Israphel 1 
 
 And mortals, when they hear him, start, 
 And, full of wonder, call him Art, 
 
 And, fain his gift to gain, 
 Essay to imitate the fashion 
 Of his rare song, and breathe its passion, 
 
 But, ah, they strive in vain ; 
 For his song is more than art, 
 Whose lute-strings are his heart 1 
 
 1 " The angel Israphel, whose heart-strings are a lute, and 
 who has the sweetest voice of all God's creatures." KORAN. 
 See EDGAR ALLAN Pot. 
 
 *4
 
 ISRAPHEL 25 
 
 And others, unto whom he wings 
 The sweetest melodies he sings, 
 
 In worship, name him Love ; 
 Yet longing the pure strain to capture, 
 When at the very height of rapture, 
 
 A sadness oft approve, 
 And fancy, strangely, that he wrings 
 The music from their own heart-strings !
 
 FIRST AND LAST 
 
 HOPE smiles a welcome, if no other smiles, 
 
 Upon our entrance to this world of pain ; 
 
 And on each purpose of our youth again, 
 
 With an inspiring sympathy, she smiles. 
 She leads us forth to battle, and beguiles 
 
 Our anguish when the long fight proves in vain ; 
 
 Till, pierced by countless wounds, amongst the 
 slain 
 
 We leave her, while the victor foe reviles. 
 But even as we touch at ruin's verge, 
 
 And hear the voices of despair that urge 
 
 The fatal plunge to chaos, Hope alone, 
 How healed and how ransomed none may guess, 
 
 Rising again in pallid loveliness, 
 
 Resumes her sway, a thousand times o'erthrown. 
 26
 
 LOVE SAILED AT MORN 
 
 LOVE sailed at morn in a fragile bark, 
 
 With broidered pennants flying : 
 His skies with sudden storm grew dark, 
 Yet gallant Love, with courage gay, 
 Rode jocund on his conquering way, 
 The winds and the waves defying. 
 
 But when, all peril overpast, 
 
 In tranquil harbor lying, 
 He felt no more the billowing blast 
 
 Oppose his sails, Love, joy-becalmed, 
 Each foe subdued, each effort balmed, 
 Without a wound, lay dying. 
 27
 
 BE THOU MY GUIDE 
 
 BE Thou my guide, and I will walk in darkness 
 As one who treads the beamy heights of day, 
 
 Feeling a gladness amidst desert sadness, 
 And breathing vernal fragrance all the way. 
 
 Be Thou my wealth, and, reft of all besides Thee, 
 I will forget the strife for meaner things, 
 
 Blest in the sweetness of thy rare completeness, 
 And opulent beyond the dream of kings. 
 
 Be Thou my strength, O lowly One and saintly ! 
 
 And, though unvisioned ills about me throng, 
 Though danger woo me and deceit pursue me, 
 
 Yet in the thought of Thee I will be strong ! 
 28
 
 NEAR AND FAR 
 
 THE air is full of perfume and the promise of the 
 
 spring, 
 
 From wintry mould the dainty blossoms come ; 
 There 's not a bird in all the boughs but 's eager 
 
 now to sing, 
 And from afar a ship is sailing home ! 
 
 The cherry-blooms, all lightly blown about the ver 
 dant sward, 
 
 With silver fleck the dandelion's gold ; 
 The jasmine and arbutus breathe the fragrance 
 
 they have stored ; 
 The crumpled ferns, like faery tents, unfold. 
 
 And low the rills are laughing, and the rivers in 
 
 the sun 
 
 Are gliding on, impatient for the sea ; 
 The wintry days are past and gone, the summer is 
 
 begun, 
 And love from far is sailing home to me ! 
 
 Ah, blessed spring ! how far more sweet than 
 any spring of yore ! 
 29
 
 30 NEAR AND FAR 
 
 No note of all thy harmonies is dumb ; 
 With thee my heart awakes to hope and happiness 
 
 once more, 
 And from afar a ship is sailing home !
 
 CORA 
 
 WHEN through thy arching aisles, 
 
 O Nature, I perceive 
 
 What brooding stillness fills the lonesome choirs 
 Where, heaven'd late, thy sweet musicians sung ; 
 
 What rude benumbing touch 
 
 Strips from reluctant boughs 
 The languid leaves, and bares to common view 
 The sacred nest, the mute, expressive nest, 
 
 Whose state defenseless tells 
 Of fledgeling treasures flown, 
 
 Then, like the prudent birds, my thoughts take 
 flight, 
 
 Winging o'er wintry fields to find the spring. 
 
 n 
 
 Somewhere on Earth's cold breast 
 
 The dauntless crocus glows, 
 And fair Narcissus hangs his head and dreams : 
 There, laughing, blushing, like a happy bride,
 
 32 CORA 
 
 With tears in her sweet eyes 
 
 To kiss away, shyly 
 
 The Maiden comes, and, as she moves along, 
 The woods and waking wolds intone her praise. 
 
 I, too, where all things tell 
 Of Autumn chill and blight, 
 I, too, will praise her, ay, with transport hymn 
 The unforgotten sweetness of the spring. 
 
 in 
 
 How desolate were Man 
 
 If, robbed of dear delight, 
 He might not with remembrance fond pursue 
 And find his happiness, and lead it back ! 
 
 The mournful Stygian shades 
 
 Were less forlorn than he ; 
 For they have memory, and cannot lose 
 Bright visions once in conscious bliss possessed ! 
 
 Through Hades' wailful halls, 
 
 Bereft of Proserpine, 
 
 They pensive glide, yet feel the far, sweet spring, 
 And seem to breathe lost Enna's distant flowers.
 
 LET ME BELIEVE 
 
 LET me believe you, love, or let me die ! 
 If on your faith I may not rest secure, 
 Beyond all chance of perad venture sure, 
 Trusting your half-avowals sweet and shy, 
 
 As trusts the lark the pallid, dawn-lit sky, 
 Then would I rather in some grave obscure 
 Repose forlorn, than, living on, endure 
 A question each dear transport to belie ! 
 
 It is a pain to thirst and do without, 
 A pain to suffer what we deem unjust, 
 To win a joy and lay it in the dust ; 
 
 But there 's a fiercer pain, the pain of doubt : 
 From other griefs Death sets the spirit free ; 
 Doubt steals the light from immortality ! 
 33
 
 BY THE CONEMAUGH 
 (MAY 31, 1889) 
 
 FOREBODING sudden of untoward change, ' 
 
 A tight'ning clasp on everything held dear, 
 A moan of waters wild and strange, 
 
 A whelming horror near ; 
 
 And, midst the thund'rous din a voice of doom, 
 " Make way for me, O Life, for Death make room I 
 
 " I come like the whirlwind rude, 
 
 'Gainst all thou hast cherished warring ; 
 
 I come like the flaming flood 
 
 From a crater's mouth outpouring ; 
 
 I come like the avalanche gliding free ; 
 
 And the Power that sent thee forth, sends me ! 
 
 " Where thou hast builded with strength secure 
 
 My hand shall spread disaster ; 
 Where thou hast barr'd me, with forethought sure, 
 
 Shall ruin flow the faster ; 
 I come to gather where thou hast sowed, 
 But I claim of thee nothing thou hast not owed I 
 34
 
 BY THE CONEMAUGH 35 
 
 " On my mission of mercy forth I go 
 
 Where the Lord of Being sends me ; 
 His will is the only will I know, 
 
 And my strength is the strength He lends me ; 
 Thy loved ones I hide 'neath my waters dim, 
 But I cannot hide them away from Him 1 "
 
 A DESCANT 
 
 WHEN Spring comes tripping o'er the lea 
 And grasses start to meet her, 
 The bluebird sings 
 With quivering wings 
 Brief rhapsodies to greet her, 
 And deems fond minstrel ! none may be, 
 The wide world over, blithe as he. 
 
 And where the brooklet tinkles by, 
 And the faery snowdrop dances, 
 And windflowers frail 
 And bloodroots pale 
 Lift up appealing glances, 
 The flute-voiced meadow-lark on high 
 Sings, " None on earth is glad as II " 
 
 Laughs Corydon, M Your hearts are bold, 
 Yet little ye can measure, 
 Poor, silly birds, 
 Spring's sweetest words, 
 Or guess at my proud pleasure, 
 When Phyllis comes, and all the wold, 
 For sudden joy, buds into gold ! " 
 36
 
 TO THE TSAR (1890) 
 
 O THOU into whose human hand is given 
 
 A godlike might ! who, for thy earthly hour, 
 Above reproof, self-counseled and self-shriven, 
 
 Wieldest o'er regions vast despotic power ! 
 Mortal, who by a breath, 
 
 A look, a hasty word, as soon forgot, 
 Commandest energies of life and death ! 
 Midst terrors dread, that darkly multiply, 
 
 Wilt thou thy vision blind, and listen not 
 Whilst unto Heaven ascends thy people's cry ? 
 
 In vain, in vain ! The injuries they speak 
 
 Down unto final depths their souls have stirr'd : 
 The aged plead through them, the childish-weak, 
 The mad, the dying, and they shall be heard ! 
 
 Thou wilt not hear them ; but, 
 Though Heaven were hedged about with walls of 
 
 stone, 
 
 And though with brazen gates forever shut, 
 And sentried 'gainst petitions of despair, 
 
 'T were closely guarded as thy fearful throne, 
 That cry of helpless wrong should enter there ! 
 37
 
 3 8 TO THE TSAR (1890) 
 
 O Majesty ! T is great to be a king, 
 
 But greater is it yet to be a man ! 
 The exile by far Lena perishing, 
 
 The captive in Kara who bears thy ban, 
 Ransomed at length and free, 
 
 Shall rise from torments that make heroes strong ; 
 Shall rise, as equal souls, to question thee ; 
 And for defense there nothing shall endure 
 
 Of all which to thy lofty state belong, 
 Save that thou hast of human, brave, and pure ! 
 
 Caesar, thou still art man, and serv'st a King 
 
 Who wields a power more terrible than thine ! 
 Slow, slow to anger, and long-suffering, 
 
 He hears his children cry, and makes no sign : 
 He hears them cry, but, oh 1 
 
 Imagine not his tardy judgments sleep, 
 Or that their agonies He doth not know 
 Who, hidden, waste where tyrants may not see I 
 
 Eternal watch He over them doth keep, 
 Eternal watch, and Russia shall be free 1
 
 THERE 'S A SPOT IN THE MOUNTAINS 
 
 THERE 's a spot in the mountains, where the dew, 
 
 dear, 
 
 Is laden with the odors of the pine, 
 Where the heavens seem unbounded, and their 
 
 blue, dear, 
 Is deepest where it mirrored seems to shine. 
 
 There, at morn and eve, with rapture old and new, 
 dear, 
 
 The thrushes sing their double song divine, 
 And the melody their voices breathe, of you, dear, 
 
 Speaks ever to this happy heart of mine. 
 
 There 's a cabin in the mountains, where the fare, 
 
 dear, 
 
 Is frugal as the cheer of Arden blest ; 
 But contentment sweet and fellowship are there, 
 
 dear, 
 
 And Love, that makes the feast he honors 
 best! 
 
 39
 
 40 THERE'S A SPOT IN THE MOUNTAINS 
 
 There 's a lake upon the mountains, where our boat, 
 dear, 
 
 Moves gayly up the stream or down the tide, 
 Where, amidst the scented lily-buds afloat, dear, 
 
 We dream the dream of Eden as we glide !
 
 DU MAURIER 
 
 Two rocked his infant cradle as he slept, 
 And crooned for him their native lullabies. 
 One gave her sense of beauty to his eyes, 
 One taught his heart her smiles, the tears she 
 
 wept. 
 
 Each made him love her as the child his home, 
 And, mother -wise, reclaimed his wandering 
 
 glance : 
 
 Beloved England and beloved France, 
 Each drew him, though, afar, he could not come. 
 In his imagination, fleur-de-lis 
 
 And English daisy blossomed side by side, 
 And dreams were his, lost transports to renew. 
 Half exiled wheresoe'er he chanced to be, 
 
 Like migrant birds his thoughts went soaring 
 
 wide, 
 
 Wooed onward by the vision of the True ! 
 41
 
 CONSCIENCE 
 
 THE friend I loved betrayed my trust 
 And bowed my spirit to the dust. 
 I keep the hurt he gave, yet know 
 He was forgiven long ago. 
 
 From him I did not merit ill, 
 But I would bear injustice still, 
 Content could years of guiltless woe 
 Undo the wrong I did my foe. 
 4*
 
 DAPHNIS 
 
 HAIL, Solitude ! hail, maiden coy and sweet ! 
 The vesper veil descends, hail, nymph discreet ! 
 We would awhile forget the din and roar 
 Of feverous life, contending evermore, 
 Lead to thy hush'd retreat 1 
 
 Where shall we find thee, who desire thee so ? 
 Where midst the lengthening shadows dost thou go ? 
 Where slumberest thou when stars the night adorn ? 
 Where glide thy feet at morn ? 
 
 Seek they that rugged promontory 
 Where Athos towers lone above the sea ? 
 Stray they where 'gainst the mountains hoary 
 Axenos moaning beats incessantly ? 
 Or all the day in some shy sylvan nook, 
 Where cowslips pale and daffadillies blow, 
 Tread they the mellow turf, or weedy brook 
 Whose wimpling waters prattle as they flow ? 
 
 Goddess with breath of balm, 
 What dear contentments nestle in thy calm ! 
 The leveret and the fawn pursue 
 Thy paths through coverts dim, the halcyon blue, 
 43
 
 44 DAPHNIS 
 
 By seas ^Egean, griev'd remembrance heals 
 
 As she thy joyance feels ; 
 And far below the merry-twinkling waves, 
 Bright Thetis breathes thy praise in orient caves. 
 
 And here, in this delightful wood, 
 
 Where saucy elves and winsome fairies bide, 
 
 We, also, would draw near thee, Solitude, 
 
 And lay our cares aside : 
 Draw near thee, nymph demure, and drain, 
 From flowery cups that know no touch profane, 
 The dews, delicious brimming ; 
 Recline where poppies, purple-hued, 
 Droop low in lovely lassitude, 
 While belted bees in amorous mood 
 O'er thymy beds are swimming, 
 Or, musing 'neath some drowsy hemlock, gain 
 The sweet Morphaean anodyne for pain. 
 
 Long, long ago, to such seclusion, 
 
 Filled with accusing shame and grieved confusion, 
 
 Life's noontide dark, its promise dead, 
 
 The youthful Daphnis fled. 
 
 Child of the God, how could he brook 
 
 That curious eyes should gaping look 
 
 Upon the sightless face, 
 
 Where, deeply written, burned his deep disgrace ? 
 Fearful of wrongs he could not see, 
 He brought his bruised heart to thee.
 
 DAPHNIS 45 
 
 And thou with solemn stillness didst caress him. 
 Forbearing to afflict with comfort crude, 
 Mistimed advice or cheap solicitude, 
 Thou with thy mild tranquillity didst bless him. 
 Thou didst not offer fond, unmeaning words, 
 But whisperings of leaves, and notes of birds, 
 And breathings of fresh flowers ; things which stole 
 Through the unlighted chambers of his soul, 
 And made him how, he knew not less alone. 
 Like dreams that come where misery hath slept, 
 Recalling tender hopes, and pleasures flown, 
 He welcomed them and wept. 
 
 Then with unsteady hand from out his breast 
 He drew the pipe of Pan, the reedy flute 
 That long neglected in inglorious rest, 
 Dark, like his vision, lay there cold and mute. 
 Up to his quivering lips he raised it slowly, 
 A moment paused, then blew a fainting strain : 
 His rigid brow relaxed, his head drooped lowly, 
 He felt the old, the sweet, immortal pain ! 
 Again the mellow, melting notes he tried, 
 Again meek Echo caught her breath and sighed. 
 
 Then freer, stronger, lovelier grew the lay ; 
 
 Incertain fears fled guiltily away ; 
 
 The lilies, listening, paled, the breeze grew whist, 
 
 The violets flushed to deeper amethyst, 
 
 The restless Hours, departing, longed to stay.
 
 46 DAPHNIS 
 
 And he forgot his melancholy state, 
 
 Fair Nomia's blissful love and fatal hate, 
 
 In the rapt exaltation of his mind, 
 
 Forgot that he was blind ; 
 
 And poured that moving music in thine ear, 
 
 Which still Sicilian shepherds in the dawn 
 
 And deepening twilight, from some balmy lawn 
 
 Or grove of ^Etna, fondly think they hear.
 
 UNCONQUERED 
 
 DEEM not, O Pain, that thou shalt vanquish me, 
 Who know each treacherous pang, each last de 
 vice 
 
 Whereby thou barr'st the way to Paradise ! 
 Inured to suffer constantly 
 Thy joyless fellowship, I gain 
 The lessons only taught by Pain, 
 And know, though broken, that my will 
 Subdues thee still ! 
 
 Man was not born the slave of things like thee 
 And thy companion, Death : the livelong day 
 He valiant strives, and holds ye still at bay ; 
 And when he can no longer see 
 
 For thick'ning shadows, faint and spent 
 He bears his standards to his tent 
 And yields ye seeming victory ; 
 But he is free ! 
 
 47
 
 IN APRIL 
 
 WHEN beeches bud and lilacs blow, 
 And Earth puts on her magic green ; 
 
 When dogwoods bear their vernal snow 
 And skies grow deep the stars between, 
 
 Then, O ye birds ! awake and sing 
 
 The gladness at the heart of Spring ! 
 
 When flowers blossom for the poor, 
 And Nature heals the hurt of years, 
 
 When wondering Love resists the cure, 
 Yet hopes again, and smiles through tears, 
 
 Then, O ye birds 1 awake and sing 
 
 The gladness at the heart of Spring 1 
 48
 
 SURVIVAL 
 
 THE knell that dooms the voiceless and obscure 
 Stills Memnon's music with its ghostly chime ; 
 Strength is as weakness in the clasp of Time, 
 And for the things that were there is no cure. 
 
 The vineyard with its fair investiture, 
 
 The mountain summit with its hoary rime, 
 The throne of Caesar, Cheops' tomb sublime, 
 Alike decay, and only dreams endure. 
 
 Dreams for Assyria her worship won, 
 And India is hallowed by her dreams ; 
 The Sphinx with deathless visage views the race 
 
 That like the lotus of a summer seems, 
 And, rudderless, immortally sails on 
 The winged Victory of Samothrace. 
 49
 
 TENNYSON 
 
 How beautiful to live as thou didst live 1 
 How beautiful to die as thou didst die, 
 In moonlight of the night, without a sigh, 
 
 At rest in all the best that love could give ! 
 
 How excellent to bear into old age 
 The poet's ardor and the heart of youth, 
 To keep to the last sleep the vow of truth, 
 
 And leave to lands that grieve a glowing page I 
 
 How glorious to feel the spirit's power 
 Unbroken by the near approach of death, 
 To breathe blest prophecies with failing breath, 
 
 Soul-bound to beauty in that latest hour 1 
 
 How sweet to greet, in final kinship owned, 
 The master-spirit to thy dreams so dear, 
 At last from his immortal lips to hear 
 
 The dirge for Imogen, and thcc, intoned 1 
 
 How beautiful to live as thou didst live I 
 How beautiful to die as thou didst die, 
 In moonlight of the night, without a sigh, 
 
 At rest in all the best that love could give I 
 So
 
 * THE HEART OF LOVE 
 
 I KNOW a place warm-sheltered from the world 
 
 A place secure, in mild conditions blest, 
 Where fainting Toil, the homespun banner furled, 
 
 May pause awhile and rest : 
 I know a place where fires burn late, 
 And mercy, waiting at the gate, 
 
 Still welcomes the oppress'd ! 
 
 I know a shrine more rich than Plutus' fane, 
 
 An altar fragrant with celestial dew, 
 Where wavering souls their virgin faiths regain 
 
 And energies renew. 
 I know a garden fair and free, 
 Where life yet wears, unfadingly, 
 Lost Eden's roseate hue ! 
 51
 
 ALEXANDER III 
 
 (LI V ADI A, NOVEMBER I, 1894) 
 
 THE world in mourning for a Russian Tsar ! 
 A despot of the nineteenth century 
 Mourned by the nations that have made men 
 
 free! 
 Ye captives of his rule ! where'er ye be, 
 
 Whether in dungeons or in mines afar 
 
 Wretches who mourn, yet mourn not for the Tsar, 
 Forgive the tears that seem a wrong to grief 
 Barren of comfort and without relief ! 
 
 The Tsar was Russia's martyr, as ye are I 
 
 He asked for peace, and she ordained him strife. 
 
 A Slav of simple heart, disliking show, 
 
 She bade him every lowly hope forego ; 
 
 And placing on his brow her crown of woe, 
 Gave him a sovereignty with perils rife, 
 And 'neath his sceptre hid the assassin's knife. 
 
 So, masked as Fear, she broke his nerves of 
 steel 
 
 Upon the circle of her racking wheel, 
 And set a horror at his door of life !
 
 ALEXANDER III S3 
 
 Humanity but sorrows for her own ; 
 
 The Autocrat she mourns not, but the man, 
 Who, loving Russia, lived beneath her ban, 
 Powerless to soften fate or change the plan 
 
 That called him all unwilling to a throne, 
 
 Hereditary evils to atone. 
 
 She mourns not Caesar, but the pathos old 
 Of a quick conscience, driven to uphold 
 
 A dynasty the world had long outgrown. 
 
 Woe to the Tsar ! Livadia's cannon boom, 
 Proclaiming that the Tsar from woe is free ! 
 Peace to the Tsar ! but, Russia, woe to thee ! 
 Still he who rules thee shall thy victim be, 
 
 Tortured by griefs that shall his heart consume, 
 
 Till he and thou, risen as from the tomb, 
 
 Shall see the light on Liberty's calm face, 
 Shall know that tyranny must yield its place 
 
 To the great spirit that hath breathed its doom !
 
 SONG 
 
 HER cheek is like a tinted rose 
 
 That June hath fondly cherished, 
 Her heart is like a star that glows 
 
 When day hath darkling perished, 
 Her voice is as a song-bird's sweet, 
 
 The drowsy wolds awaking 
 But, ah, her love is past compare, 
 
 And keeps my heart from breaking ! 
 
 Lost sunbeams light her tresses free, 
 
 Along their shadows gleaming, 
 Her smiles entangle memory 
 
 And set the soul a-dreaming, 
 Her thoughts, like seraphs, upward soar, 
 
 Earth's narrow bounds forsaking 
 But, ah, her love abides with me 
 
 And keeps my heart from breaking ! 
 54
 
 , 
 
 THE LAND OF PROMISE 
 
 ALTHOUGH the faiths to which we fearful clung 
 Fall from us, or no more have might to save ; 
 Although the past, recalling gifts it gave, 
 O'er lost delights a doleful knell have rung ; 
 
 Although the present, forth from ashes sprung, 
 Postpone from day to day what most we crave, 
 And, promising, beguile us to the grave, 
 Yet, toward the Future, we are always young ! x x, 
 
 It smiles upon us in last lingering hours, 
 If with less radiance, with a light as fair, 
 As tender, pure, as in our childish years : 
 
 It is the fairy realm of fadeless flowers, 
 
 Of songs and ever-springing fountains, where 
 No heart-aches come, no vain regrets, no tears ! 
 55
 
 PSYCHE 
 
 SOFTLY, with palpitating heart, 
 
 She came to where he lay concealed apart 
 
 The lamp she held intensified the gloom, 
 
 And in the dusk wrought shadowy shapes of doom. 
 
 Her starry eyes 
 
 O'er-brimmed with troubled tears, 
 Her pulses throbbing wildly in her ears, 
 
 She stood beside him where he lay 
 Hushed in the deep 
 Of sweet unconscious sleep. 
 
 But as she stifled back her sighs 
 And tried to look upon that cherished form, 
 Remembrance shook her purpose warm, 
 
 And, chiding, seemed to say, 
 " Why seek to solve, why, curious, thus destroy 
 The mystery of joy ? 
 
 What doubt unblest, what faithless fear is this, 
 Which tempts to paths none may retrace, 
 Which moves thee fond one ! to unveil the 
 face 
 
 Of bliss ? 
 
 Is 't not enough to feel it thine ? 
 56
 
 PSYCHE 57 
 
 Like Semele, would'st gaze on the Divine ? 
 
 Secret the soul of Rapture dwells ; 
 
 Love gives, yet jealous tests repels 
 
 Nor will of force be known, 
 
 And bashful Beauty, viewed too near is gone."
 
 , 
 
 PILGRIMAGE 
 
 WANDERER from a fading strand 
 
 Unto shadowy shores unknown, 
 Thou whose sails are onward fanned 
 By flattering breezes, hast thou planned 
 All thy course alone ? 
 
 Canst thou tell, now clouds begin 
 
 To gather in thy path of day, 
 To what harbor thou shalt win, 
 As the long night closes in 
 
 On a wilder way ? 
 
 Pilgrim, no: I cannot tell. 
 
 Strange my course, and stormy woes 
 And darkness may obscure its close ; 
 
 Yet I feel that all is well, 
 For my Pilot knows I 
 58
 
 MA BELLE 
 
 THE world is full of charm, ma belle, 
 
 And blithe as you are young ; 
 It echoes with a silver note 
 
 The lispings of your tongue ; 
 It lays upon your fairy hand 
 
 A touch 'as light as down ; 
 It smiles approval, and, ma belle, 
 
 You have not felt its frown. 
 
 The world is very rich, ma belle, 
 
 And all its gifts are yours. 
 It bows before you, little one, 
 
 And while the mood endures, 
 With roses, freshly garlanded, 
 
 Your pathway bright adorns ; 
 But roses fade, ma belle, ma belle 
 
 And there are left the thorns ! 
 
 To snare your feet, the world, ma belle, 
 
 Has spread a shining net, 
 What wonder then, believing child, 
 
 If you awhile forget, 
 59
 
 60 MA BELLE 
 
 Midst suitors who to-night adore, 
 
 And may to-morrow range, 
 A love that has been always yours 
 
 A love that cannot change ! 
 
 What wonder ! still they whisper praise, 
 
 And I have oft reproved ; 
 Of love they speak with eloquence, 
 
 And I have only loved. 
 Sometimes, alas, I envy them, 
 
 Yet in the days to be, ^ 
 You may forget them all, ma belle 
 
 But will remember me 1
 
 DRYAD SONG 
 
 WHEN the wolds of Lycaeus are silvery fair, 
 When Maenalian forests are doubtful and dim, 
 
 When the hound strains the leash and the wolf 
 
 quits his lair, 
 
 And the startled fawn flies from the fountain's 
 cool rim ; 
 
 When with panting delight we impatiently follow 
 
 The shuddering stags over hillock and hollow, 
 A form from the shadows comes bounding out, 
 And we know it is Pan by his horrid shout. 
 
 A form from the shadows comes bounding out, 
 At head of the Satyrs' impetuous rout, 
 And we know it is Pan, we know it is Pan, 
 We know it is Pan by his horrid shout ! 
 
 When hidden with Dian in deep woodland bower, 
 
 We loosen her quiver, her sandals unbind, 
 Bathe her beautiful feet in the pearl - trickling 
 
 shower, 
 
 Pellucid and pure ; when we deftly enwind 
 The silvery fillet that clasps and caresses 
 The wonder and wealth of her shadowy tresses, 
 61
 
 62 DRYAD SONG 
 
 A face through the pleached blooms stealthily 
 
 peers, 
 And we know it is Pan by his furry ears. 
 
 A face through the pleached blooms stealthily 
 
 peers, 
 Makes mouths to affright us, then mocks at 
 
 our fears, 
 
 And we know it is Pan, we know it is Pan, 
 We know it is Pan by his furry ears 1 
 
 When, shunning the shafts of Apollo at noon, 
 To the kindly green coverts we thankfully creep, 
 
 Athirst for fresh runnels, and ready to swoon, 
 Oft, sudden we come to one fallen asleep : 
 
 Fallen asleep midst the tangles and grasses 
 
 That trip up the confident clown as he passes, 
 And fearful we peep at the form supine, 
 For we know it is Pan, though he makes no sign. 
 
 And fearful we peep at the form supine, 
 With the hoofs of a goat and the brow divine, 
 For we know it is Pan, we know it is Pan, 
 We know it is Pan, though he makes no sign ! 
 
 When the shepherds are gone from the sunset hills, 
 
 When evening is mildest in dingle and dale, 
 Through the hush comes a sound that enraptures 
 and thrills,
 
 DRYAD SONG 63 
 
 Light wafted along on the tremulous gale : 
 So passionate-sweet, so wildly out-welling, 
 That Ladon hears it with bosom swelling. 
 We listen and sigh, sigh and listen again, 
 For we know it is Pan by that melting strain ! 
 
 We listen and sigh, sigh and listen again, 
 While the lithe reeds quiver as if in pain, 
 For we know it is Pan, we know it is Pan, 
 We know it is Pan by that melting strain !
 
 MORNING 
 
 I WOKE and heard the thrushes sing at dawn, 
 A strangely blissful burst of melody, 
 A chant of rare, exultant certainty, 
 Fragrant, as springtime breaths, of wood and 
 
 lawn. 
 
 Night's eastern curtains still were closely drawn ; 
 No roseate flush predicted pomps to be, 
 Or spoke of morning loveliness to me, 
 But, for those happy birds, the night was gone 1 
 Darkling they sang, nor guessed what care con 
 sumes 
 
 Man's questioning spirit ; heedless of decay, 
 They sang of joy and dew-embalmed blooms. 
 My doubts grew still, doubts seemed so poor while 
 
 they, 
 
 Sweet worshipers of light, from leafy glooms 
 Poured forth transporting prophecies of day. 
 64
 
 A TOMB IN TUSCANY 
 
 IN Montepulciano fair, 
 
 Long famous for that vintage rare, 
 
 Prized by the giver of the vine 
 
 Above all wine 
 
 There dwelt a man whose years had taught him 
 To seek, beyond what wealth had brought him, 
 Something to give his transient name 
 
 A lasting fame. 
 
 " For lordly palaces," he said, 
 " Shall crumble ; ay, and bastions dread, 
 And temples grave and gardens gay 
 
 Become as they ; 
 
 Each vaunted image of my power 
 Shall perish like a wayside flower, 
 And like the hawk my hand hath fed 
 Lie waste and dead. 
 
 " Wherefore, ere yet my days be spent, 
 I will uprear a monument 
 That 'gainst the envious floods of Time 
 
 Shall stand sublime ; 
 
 My treasures vast shall serve and cherish 
 65
 
 66 A TOMB IN TUSCANY 
 
 An art too heavenly to perish : 
 A beauty, born of passion pure, 
 That shall endure ! " 
 
 So spoke he ; and now lies asleep, 
 While near him forms angelic keep 
 Unwearied watch, and from decay 
 
 Guard him alway : 
 
 Rare, sculptured forms that blend his story 
 With Donatello's deathless glory, 
 And make mankind his debtors be 
 
 Eternally. 
 
 For lordly castles, as he said, 
 
 Have crumbled ; ay, and bastions dread, 
 
 And temples grave and gardens gay 
 
 Become as they. 
 
 Each vaunted image of his power 
 Has perished like a wayside flower, 
 But living in the art he fed, 
 
 He is not dead !
 
 HE AND I 
 
 HE and I, and that was all, 
 
 The boundless world had grown so small : 
 
 So small, so narrow in content, 
 So single in possession sweet, 
 So personal, so love-complete, 
 
 So still, so eloquent ! 
 
 He and I, and Earth made new ! 
 The flowers blossomed for us two, 
 
 And birds, to voice our rapture, sung 
 Divinely 'neath our northern skies, 
 As sung the birds in Paradise 
 
 When life and love were young ! 
 
 He and I, O aching heart ! 
 Only a narrow grave apart ! 
 
 Yet seeking for his face in vain, 
 How changed, to me, the world has grown ; 
 How cold it seems, how strange, how lone, 
 
 How infinite in pain ! 
 67
 
 THE LITTLE LASS 
 (AN OLD-TIME DITTY) 
 
 As Douglas to his castle came, 
 Emotion nerved his shatter'd frame, 
 And soft he pondered, " Presently 
 My little lass will welcome me 1 
 
 * As longs the miser for his gold, 
 As fever longs, with thirst untold, 
 So yearns my heart her face to see, 
 Who yonder waits to welcome me ! " 
 
 But as he turned his steed about, 
 A mournful peal of bells rung out ; 
 Whereat he cried, " Nay, merrily I 
 Ring forth my bairn to welcome me ! " 
 
 He entered at the castle gate ; 
 (None marked him come, for it grew late,) 
 He stood within his hall at last ; 
 (None heeded him, for tears fell fast.) 
 68
 
 THE LITTLE LASS 69 
 
 Quoth Douglas : " Friends, if me ye mourn, 
 With drooping heads and looks forlorn, 
 Now for your sorrows comfort ye, 
 And call my lass to welcome me ! 
 
 " 'T is true that I from out these wars 
 Bring back a wound and many scars ; 
 But life is mine, and I am free, 
 And my brave lass hath ransom'd me ! " 
 
 Up spoke an ancient servitor : 
 " We mourn indeed the wrongs of war, 
 We bless thy loved return, but she 
 Shall rise no more to welcome thee 1 " 
 
 Sudden as falls the giant oak 
 Sore smitten by the lightning stroke, 
 So swooned Douglas to the ground, 
 And freshly bled his opened wound. 
 
 They strove to stay life's ebbing tide, 
 They chafed his hands, they swathed his side, 
 But Donald wailed, " Ah, woe is me ! 
 Thy little lass hath welcomed thee ! "
 
 MIGHT I RETURN 
 
 MIGHT I return to that May-day of gladness 
 When life is young, and all its promise fair ; 
 
 Might I efface the memory of sadness, 
 And put away the weary load of care, 
 
 To pluck the rose that in Time's Eden blows, 
 I would not go, were I to miss you there ! 
 
 Might I ascend unto those realms of rapture 
 Whose amaranthine joys fade not again, 
 
 Might I the secrets of Elysium capture, 
 And find fruition for my longings vain, 
 
 I would forego these dear delights, to know 
 That you were with me, and to share your pain. 
 70
 
 WATER LILIES 
 
 I GATHERED them the lilies pure and pale, 
 The golden-hearted lilies, virgin fair, 
 And in a vase of crystal, placed them where 
 Their perfumes might unceasingly exhale. 
 
 High in my lonely tent above the swale, 
 
 Above the shimmering mere and blossoms there, 
 I solaced with their sweetness my despair, 
 And fed with dews their beauteous petals frail. 
 
 But when the aspens felt the evening breeze, 
 And shadows 'gan across the lake to creep, 
 When hermit-thrushes to the Oreades 
 
 Sang vesper orisons, from cloisters deep, 
 My lilies, lulled by native sympathies, 
 Upfolded their white leaves and fell asleep. 
 71
 
 LOVE HAS NO FOES 
 
 LOVE has no foes ; where'er he goes 
 Conditions full of mildness meet, 
 
 And amber honey-cells are filled, 
 
 And little birds begin to build, 
 And blossoms gather at his feet, 
 Love is so sweet ! 
 
 Love has no foes ; the folded rose 
 
 That answering his smile's caress 
 Blows into beauty, with its heart 
 All bruised to fragrance by his art, 
 To every breeze doth still confess 
 His loveliness ! 
 
 Love has no foes ; who only knows 
 
 What Love hath been when Love is fled, 
 E'en he, bereft, would follow him, 
 Though to the voiceless caverns dim 
 Of the wan city of the Dead, 
 And share his bed I
 
 HYLAS 
 
 UNTO the woodland spring he came 
 
 For water welling fresh and sweet ; 
 
 An eager purpose winged his feet 
 
 And set his heart aflame. 
 
 But musing on Alcmene's son 
 
 Reviewing, emulous, each prize 
 
 By the godlike hero won, 
 
 A-sudden, with surprise, 
 
 He heard soft voices call upon his name : 
 
 " Hylas, Hylas, stay and listen ! 
 Though but a moment, bright dreamer, delay ! 
 Pleasure greets thee, 
 Youth entreats thee, 
 
 From their enchantments, ah, turn not away ! 
 Where the eddies dimpling glisten, 
 To the love-lorn naiads listen ! 
 
 " Let not carping care destroy 
 Life's jocund prime with counsels cold, 
 From happy youth the gods withhold 
 The sordid gifts that they employ 
 To plague the old ! 
 73
 
 74 HYLAS 
 
 Let not fruitless toil destroy 
 Days fresh as blossoms newly sprung ! 
 Ere sages spoke, ere poets sung, 
 Youth was the gala-time of joy, 
 And thou art young ! 
 
 " Glory ? ah, 't is labor double ! 
 Wealth ? alas, 't is costly trouble ! 
 Foolish Hylas ! Wouldst thou follow 
 Glistering shows and phantoms hollow, 
 Vague intents and dreams ideal ? 
 Here are pleasures sweet as real : 
 
 Still delights 
 
 Of summer nights, 
 Rest which e'en ambition misses 
 
 Soft repose 
 
 On beds of rose 
 
 In murmurous grots, and waking blisses. 
 Hither comes no word of duty ; 
 Life is love, and love is beauty. 
 Hither comes no note of strife ; 
 Life is love, and love is life. 
 Raptures bubbling to the brink, 
 Would not a wise man stoop and drink ? 
 
 " Though Heracles sit in his tent 
 And boast to warlike Telamon 
 Of monsters tamed and labors done ; 
 Though he recount in lofty strain
 
 HYLAS 75 
 
 How dread Nemea's plague was slain, 
 And loudly vaunt, grown eloquent, 
 The rattling heaven-descended spell, 
 And Cerberus upborne from Hell, 
 Yet, even while he tells the story 
 Of proud and world-renowned glory, 
 Telamon applauding then, 
 Ay, even then, let him recall 
 Shy Megara's face he 'd give it all, 
 All, Hylas, to be young again ! " 
 
 The wondering boy beheld the gleam 
 Of tresses mirrored in the spring : 
 Naught else ; yet soft as in a dream, 
 Those voices sweetly ravishing 
 Fell on his ear. 
 He bent more near, 
 Trembling, amazed, 
 And wistful gazed 
 Grown eager more to hear 
 Far down below the cool reflection 
 And wavy sheen of auburn hair. 
 But, Eros blest ! what marvel rare, 
 What more than mortal beauty there, 
 What coy, what wooing-sweet perfection 
 Entranced held him, bound as in a snare ? 
 
 No need to urge him now to stay ! 
 Alas ! he could not turn away,
 
 76 HYLAS 
 
 But on the Naiad's nearing charms 
 
 Gazed amorous : on locks of brown, 
 
 On melting eyes, and rubied lips, 
 
 Slim throats and dewy finger-tips. 
 
 He stooped ; they caught him in their arms, 
 
 And held him fast, and drew him down. 
 
 I)own, down, down, down, 
 Through the liquid deeps of the soundless well : 
 
 Down, down, down, down, 
 How many fathom, ah ! who can tell ? 
 Away from the day and the starlit hours, 
 Away from the shadows, the birds, and the 
 
 flowers ; 
 
 Away from the fell and the spicy dell, 
 From the fountain's smile and the mountain's 
 
 frown; 
 
 Down, down, down, down ! 
 He tried to ascend, but the lithe arms enwound 
 
 him; 
 He sought to escape, but the wily weeds bound 
 
 him. 
 
 By pleasure's softening touches thrill'd 
 The dainty wonders at his side 
 He missed not tasks left unfulfill'd, 
 Nor heard despised honor chide ; 
 And sinking slowly to the watery goal, 
 His visage shrank to match his ebbing soul.
 
 HYLAS 77 
 
 Late in the purple twilight of the day 
 Alcides came with heavy tread that way, 
 Crushing the fragile reeds and shrinking ferns, 
 Searching now here, now there by doubtful 
 
 turns 
 And calling loudly on the boy, 
 
 His dear annoy. 
 
 Long, long he stayed, still hoping to rejoice, 
 While babbling Echo, with her far-off voice, 
 Railed at his care. Then, sad and slow, he 
 
 passed 
 
 Reluctant to resign the quest at last, 
 Nor dreamed, beholding a poor frog emerge 
 From that enchanted fountain's plashy verge, 
 That Hylas, once so ready to aspire, 
 There harshly croaked, contented in the mire 1
 
 ADIEU 
 
 ADIEU ! I know that I no more 
 
 Shall behold you, 
 Your future lies beyond her door 
 
 Who consoled you ; 
 
 The world has promised to redeem 
 
 Each new sorrow, 
 It beckons, and you lightly dream 
 
 Of a morrow. 
 
 I weep not, nor shall futile sighs 
 
 Hold you longer, 
 The pity in your loveless eyes 
 
 Makes me stronger, 
 
 For terrible, past loss of mine, 
 
 Hath arisen 
 The dread to know what was your shrine 
 
 But your prison. 
 
 I listen while your lips protest, 
 
 Heavy hearted, 
 For by your wishes unexpress'd 
 
 We are parted : 
 78
 
 ADIEU 79 
 
 I listen, and hope's fickle glow 
 
 Fades away. 
 Why mock my grief ? If you can go 
 
 Wherefore stay ? 
 
 In all the past we still were true, 
 
 You and I, love ; 
 Few words suffice to bid adieu, 
 
 Few to die, love ; 
 
 The loneliest stand face to face, 
 
 Disunited, 
 And thoughts of love that strain through space 
 
 Are requited !
 
 OCTOBER 
 
 SWEET are the woodland notes 
 That gush melodious at morn from palpitating 
 
 throats, 
 In anthems fresh as dew ! Ay, they are sweet ! 
 
 But from that dim retreat 
 
 Where Evening muses through the pensive hours, 
 There sometimes floats along 
 A more appealing song. 
 So, love, thy voice breathes a diviner music in the 
 
 chill 
 
 Of autumn, when the glen is still 
 And Flora's gold all tarnished on the hill, 
 Than in the time when merry May calls forth her 
 bashful flowers. 
 
 80
 
 IN THE WOOD 
 
 I WOKE in suffering, and sadly heard, 
 Hard by my tent, repeated cries of pain, 
 That to the wilderness, in wildest strain, 
 Proclaimed the trouble of a mother bird 
 
 Robbed of her young ; and I, too deeply stirr'd, 
 Thought as above me fell the ceaseless rain, 
 Wherefore should one who slumbers wake again, 
 Since anguish is the universal word ? 
 
 Then suddenly aloft the wood there rose 
 The holy anthem of the hermit thrush, 
 From depths of happiness toward Heaven swell 
 ing; 
 
 And o'er the forest came an awed repose, 
 
 And griefs that chid the stormy night grew hush, 
 List'ning that wondrous ecstasy upwelling ! 
 Si
 
 SONG 
 
 j 
 
 FRIENDSHIP from its moorings strays, 
 
 Love binds fast together ; 
 Friendship is for balmy days, 
 Love for stormy weather. 
 
 For itself the one contends, 
 
 Fancied wrongs regretting 
 
 Love the thing it loves defends, 
 All besides forgetting. 
 
 Friendship is the morning lark 
 Toward the sunrise winging, 
 
 Love the nightingale, at dark 
 Most divinely singing I
 
 LAMENT OF BRUNNHILDE 
 
 MIDST rejoicings I have wept, 
 And in hours when others slept, 
 
 I have looked on Horror's face, 
 
 In this place. 
 Now midst waitings I alone 
 
 Hush the voice of mortal sorrow, 
 Gaze on thee, again mine own ! 
 
 Fear no parting for the morrow. 
 
 For we meet, love, as before, 
 By a flame-encircled shore. 
 
 Thou once more hast stemmed the tide, 
 
 To thy bride ; 
 And I wake at thy command 
 
 From my agony of dreaming, 
 And thy ring is on my hand, 
 
 And I feel its clasp redeeming ! 
 
 Heart to heart again responds, 
 Death asunder rends my bonds, 
 From long exile sets me free, 
 
 Gives me thee ! 
 And submissive to his will, 
 
 With a rapture that betrays not, 
 83
 
 84 LAMENT OF BRUNNHILDE 
 
 Siegfried, I embrace thee still, 
 
 And the wrath of gods dismays not ! 
 
 Ah, they pitied not my pain ! 
 Merciless, they saw thee slain, 
 
 Smiling though the cruel dart 
 
 Pierced my heart, 
 But with glory none shall dim 
 
 Thou hast passed the dreaded portal, 
 And I bless the will of Him 
 
 Who, in anger, made me mortal ! 
 
 I shall rest when Odin, late, 
 Mourns forlorn Briinnhilde's fate : 
 
 Mourns her truth, dishonor made 
 
 Faith betrayed ; 
 For the Nornen ne'er forget ; 
 
 In their awful hands they hold him, 
 And as my spent sun shall set, 
 
 Glooms eternal shall infold him. 
 
 Changeless guardians who keep 
 Watch and ward, shall give me sleep, 
 
 When hot tears not mine are shed 
 
 For thee, my dead ! 
 When thy foes in vain repent, 
 
 Hopeless, for thy ruin languish, 
 When Valhalla's towers are rent 
 
 In remembrance of my anguish !
 
 LAMENT OF BRUNNHILDE 85 
 
 Godlike hero, thou and I 
 
 Loved as none should love who die ! 
 
 Dost thou call ? Thy funeral pyre, 
 
 Kindling higher, 
 Weds me to my destiny. 
 
 Bridegroom ! lover ! last desire ! 
 Thou who crossed the flames to me ! 
 
 Swift to thee I mount through fire !
 
 MUSIC 
 
 THE might of music, and its mystic fire, 
 Will from no studied Art alone proceed ; 
 
 The soul of Orpheus must thrill the lyre, 
 The breath of Pan must blow the plaintive reed. 
 86
 
 TOO LATE 
 
 THE words of love I never said to thee 
 
 I whisper now, 
 The tenderness I might have given thee 
 
 I offer now, 
 As at thy feet, who hopeless knelt to me, 
 
 I, hopeless, bow. 
 
 The wintry bush in yonder hedgerow growing, 
 
 A rose adorns, 
 And near and far are snowy clusters blowing, 
 
 Where late were thorns ; 
 But still my heart, nor bud nor blossom knowing, 
 
 Unpitied mourns. 
 
 I see the bird that to his mate is winging 
 
 His mate so dear 
 The very heart within his breast is singing 
 
 As he draws near, 
 And I, O love, too late my love am bringing 
 
 Thou dost not hear ! 
 87
 
 THE CHRYSANTHEMUM 
 
 A ROSE-TREE, all ablush with opening flowers, 
 Just nodded to the heliotrope and pink, 
 Greeted the lilies by the fountain's brink 
 And curtseyed toward the jasmine's star-wreathed 
 
 bowers. 
 
 She then perceived a plant which, in the hours 
 Since May-time blossoms blew and bobolink 
 Sang blithely, constant grew, yet seemed to drink 
 No beauty from spring sun or summer showers. 
 Scornful, she tossed her head, but soothingly 
 Dame Nature to the plant dishonored said: 
 
 " Time conquereth 
 The proud. Yon rose her petaled pomps shall 
 
 see 
 
 Torn rudely by the Frost-King's icy breath, 
 When life luxuriant shall throb in thee, 
 And blossom in the very midst of death ! " 
 88
 
 WINGS 
 
 THAT Love has wings the poets say ; 
 
 White wings where lights and shadows play, 
 Swift wings, that sail from shore to shore, 
 From sea to sea, or lightly soar 
 
 To happy Edens far away. 
 
 Where'er they gleam the world grows gay, 
 December smiles, and rosy May 
 
 With fluttering transport feels once more 
 That Love has wings. 
 
 But Youth is fond, and hearts are clay, 
 And faults deceive, and doubts betray, 
 And some forget the winning lore 
 That drew the blessing to their door, 
 And learn too late ah, well-a-day ! 
 That Love has wings. 
 89
 
 THE LIBERTY-BELL 
 
 (SENT FROM PHILADELPHIA TO ATLANTA, 
 OCTOBER 4, 1895) 
 
 WITH pomp attendant, and in garlands clrest, 
 I journey from my sacred home once more ; 
 
 Not this time to the new, triumphant West, 
 But to a land more dear to me of yore : 
 
 A land in memory sweet as the perfume 
 
 Of twining jasmine and magnolia bloom. 
 
 Though old and broken, for that memory's sake 
 The memory of honored things gone by, 
 
 I will forget my length of years, and make 
 This pilgrimage unto her Southern sky, 
 
 So Georgia's children, too, my face may know, 
 
 And wreathe me proudly with their mistletoe. 
 
 Their fathers knew me, and in that great hour 
 When in the Hall of Freedom, since my home, 
 
 They signed the Charter, born of love and power, 
 That made them one, I, from the lofty dome 
 90
 
 THE LIBERTY-BELL 91 
 
 Above them, loudly rang the brave command, 
 Proclaiming Liberty throughout the land ! 
 
 Men pass away, but I do not forget ; 
 
 And though, alas, I have been silent long, 
 The echoes of my ringing vibrate yet, 
 
 From pole to pole, in every freeman's song ; 
 And she who shared my May, in my December 
 Shall gaze upon my face, and will remember ! 
 
 Georgia, to thee I come as to my own, 
 Undying laurels for thy heroes bringing, 
 
 Who sacrificed themselves to right alone, 
 Who signed for Liberty, and set me ringing. 
 
 The word they witnessed then, I bear to all, 
 
 We stand, united; we, divided, fall 7 
 
 O Georgia ! land of Gwynnett, Walton, Hall ! 
 
 Whose star was one of the sublime Thir 
 teen, 
 A pledge of hope and happiness to all, 
 
 A sign of victory, wherever seen, 
 That vow the Fathers made, their sons fulfill, 
 The stars they joined shine on, united still !
 
 VAGRANT 
 
 THE love that has no memories and no hope, 
 Is like the weed that blossoms for an hour ; 
 That putting forth its one imperfect flower, 
 
 Straightway doth languish. It can neither cope 
 With the strong tempest, nor with the mild power 
 Of mellow sunlight, nor with the soft shower. 
 
 It has no root in nature, and it dies, 
 Leaving no fragrance and no fruit behind ; 
 And none lament it, nor return to find 
 
 Its bed when, beaten low, it bruised lies : 
 Unfriended, and forsaken of its kind, 
 It blows about, at mercy of the wind. 
 92
 
 . 
 
 THOUGH THOU HAST CLIMBED 
 
 THOUGH thou hast climbed, by patient effort slow, 
 
 O'er barriers that thy course denied, 
 And from proud summits gazest down below 
 Self satisfied ; 
 
 Though thou hast felt the clouds beneath thy feet, 
 
 And to past triumphs fond returning, 
 Wakest no more, sublimer heights to greet 
 With upward yearning, 
 
 Better for thee hadst thou been taught to bow, 
 
 Through lengthening years of blest probation, 
 Looking to something loftier than thou, 
 In adoration : 
 
 Better for thee had thine unconquered will, 
 
 So scornful of restraining bars 
 Been held earth's captive thrall, thy strivings still 
 Unto the Stars ! 
 93
 
 AUTUMN 
 
 " We ne'er will part ! " Ah me, what plaintive 
 
 sounds 
 
 Are human protests ! Dear one, lift your eyes ! 
 Behold the solemn, widespread prophecies 
 Of that whose shadow all our light confounds, 
 
 Of that whose being all our knowledge bounds ! 
 Far from the faded fields the robin flies, 
 Upon her stem the last rose droops and dies, 
 And through the pines a doomful blast resounds. 
 
 As dawn is portent of the day's decline, 
 As joy is prelude sweet to waiting sorrow, 
 So ripened good is Nature's harvest sign : 
 
 Love, only, the immortal strain doth borrow, 
 And, high exalted by a hope divine, 
 Still whispers in the night of death, To 
 morrow I 
 
 94
 
 i 
 
 IN A COLLEGE SETTLEMENT 
 
 THE sights and sounds of the wretched street 
 Oppressed me, and I said : " We cheat 
 
 Our hearts with hope. Man sunken lies 
 In vice, and naught that's fair or sweet 
 
 Finds further favor in his eyes. 
 
 " Vainly we strive, in sanguine mood, 
 To elevate a savage brood 
 
 Which, from the cradle, sordid, dull, 
 No longer has a wish for good, 
 
 Or craving for the beautiful." 
 
 I said ; but chiding my despair, 
 My wiser friend just pointed where, 
 
 By some indifferent passer thrown 
 Upon a heap of ashes bare, 
 
 The loose leaves of a rose were sown. 
 
 And I, 'twixt tenderness and doubt, 
 Beheld, while pity grew devout, 
 
 A squalid and uneager child, 
 With careful fingers picking out 
 
 The scentless petals, dust-defiled. 
 9S
 
 96 IN A COLLEGE SETTLEMENT 
 
 And straight I seemed to see a close, 
 With hawthorn hedged and brier-rose ; 
 
 And, bending down, I whispered, " Dear, 
 Come, let us fly, while no one knows, 
 
 To the country far away from here 1 " 
 
 Upon the little world-worn face 
 There dawned a look of wistful grace, 
 
 Then came the question that for hours 
 Still followed me from place to place : 
 
 " Real country, where you can catch flowers ? "
 
 A VALENTINE 
 
 FEAR not that I shall tell the world, 
 
 O lady mine, how sweet thou art, 
 Fear not that others so shall gain 
 
 The secret of my heart ; 
 For though my lips should carol praise 
 
 From night till morn, from morn till eve, 
 Thy loveliness, O lady mine, 
 
 Who had not known could not believe ! 
 
 To praise the rose is not to paint 
 
 Its perfume, in the air afloat ; 
 No words can voice the violet, 
 
 Or trill the throstle's note ; 
 Nor may I fondly hope in song 
 
 Thy mystic graces to impart, 
 Who hath not known thee, lady mine, 
 
 Will never dream how sweet thou art ! 
 97
 
 FRIENDS TO VIRTUE 
 
 " The gods whom we all belong to are the gods we belong 
 to whether we will or no." 
 
 INTO the theatre they came 
 
 " Motley 's the only wear ! " 
 Children of poverty, of shame, 
 
 Of folly, of despair. 
 
 Elbowing rudely, Jill and Jack, 
 
 A nearer view to win, 
 Youths, men, and women, white and black, 
 
 Pell-mell, they jostled in. 
 
 A wretched place of poor resort, 
 
 Far from the world polite, 
 Few pennies bought the meagre sport 
 
 So fruitful of delight, 
 
 And gazing there, each brutish face, 
 
 The godlike stamp resigned, 
 A tablet seemed whereon disgrace 
 
 Had written thoughts unkind. 
 98
 
 FRIENDS TO VIRTUE 99 
 
 " And what," I mused, " will now be fed 
 
 To cater to their mood 
 Who, as their looks bespeak, have said, 
 4 Evil, be thou my good ' ? 
 
 " Order will surely be reversed, 
 Judgment will disappear, 
 The tricks of knaves will be rehearsed 
 To catch the plaudits here ! " 
 
 Yet as I watched the varied throng, 
 
 My theories took flight, 
 For, lo, they still condemned the wrong, 
 
 They still approved the right ! 
 
 The " villain " by his better art 
 
 Surprised from them no praise ; 
 
 They frankly took the hero's part, 
 Awarding him the bays ; 
 
 For they, unlike the wise of earth, 
 
 Slight tribute paid to skill, 
 Anhungered for a higher worth, 
 
 Lovers of virtue still !
 
 IN WINTER 
 
 IT will be long ere 'neath the sunlight dimpling, 
 The mountain snows melt back to earth's still 
 
 breast, 
 Ere swallows build, and wayward brooklets wim- 
 
 pling 
 
 O'er pebbly beds, wind by the pewee's nest, 
 Ere swells the lily's cup, ere transport strong 
 Thrills in the bluebird's lay, it will be long ! 
 
 It will be long ere dews and fresh'ning showers 
 Descend where latticed roses languid burn, 
 
 Ere, pale from exile, nodding wayside flowers 
 And timid woodland darlings home return, 
 
 Ere vesper-sparrows chant their Delphian song, 
 
 And larks at sunrise sing, it will be long I 
 
 But though fierce blow the winds through forests 
 
 shrouded, 
 
 Where snows, for leafy verdure, cheerless cling, 
 Though seas moan wild, and skies are darkly 
 
 clouded, 
 
 Within the heart that loves 't is always spring 1 
 There memories and hopes, fresh-budding, throng, 
 And faith forgets that Winter lingers long, 
 too
 
 ACHILLES 
 
 WHEN, with a mortal mother's helpless tears, 
 
 Thetis, the silver-footed, to her son 
 
 Revealed the choice in death he might not shun ; 
 
 The goddess-born, longing for lengthened years 
 In his own land, with all that life endears 
 
 Renounced Earth's breathing pleasures new be 
 gun, 
 
 And chose to die in youth, each conflict won, 
 
 Leaving a fame no blight autumnal sears. 
 
 The Argives sleep, the Trojan hosts are dumb, 
 And no man knows where Homer's ashes be ; 
 Yet, echoing down the list'ning ages, come 
 
 E'en to this distant nineteenth century 
 The hero's words by warlike Ilium, 
 And strengthen others in their need, and me !
 
 A DEBUTANTE 
 
 AT last, for weariness, 
 She slept, yet breathed in dreams a fragrance of 
 
 success 
 
 Sweeter to her desires than cooling showers, 
 Than honey hived in flowers, 
 Or than those notes which ere the night is done, 
 Are shyly fluted forth in worship of the sun. 
 
 The longed-for prize 
 
 Her own, again she heard delighted plaudits rise, 
 Again her conquest read in beaming eyes, 
 And scanned each upturned face, and missed but 
 onel 
 
 " O love," she, dreaming, sighed, 
 In joy grown sudden sad, and lonely in her pride, 
 " O love, dost thou, of all the world, not care 
 These triumphs dear to share ? 
 Dost thou, who sued in griefs to bear a part, 
 Who lightened discontent, and soothed with hea 
 venly art, 
 
 Forbearing blame 
 102
 
 A DEBUTANTE 103 
 
 Remove when all besides with praises speak my 
 
 name ? " 
 
 Distinct, yet as from far, the answer came : 
 " Love still demands an undivided heart 1 "
 
 GREATNESS 
 
 MIDST noble monuments, alone at eve 
 I wandered, reading records of the dead, 
 In spite of praise forgotten past recall ; 
 And near, so sheltered one might scarce perceive, 
 I found a lowly headstone, and I read 
 The word upon it : HAWTHORNE that was all. 
 104
 
 SUPPLIANT 
 
 FATHER, I lift my hands to Thee : 
 
 Reject me not ! 
 
 Mine eyes are blind, I cannot see. 
 Be Thou the lamp unto my feet, 
 Guide to the rock of my retreat ; 
 O Light, my darkness cries to Thee ! 
 
 Reject me not ! 
 
 Father, mine eyes with tears are wet, 
 
 Reject me not ! 
 
 Though Thou forgive, shall I forget ? 
 Nay, though thy mercy fall like rain, 
 My spirit still must bear the pain 
 And burden of a vast regret. 
 
 Reject me not ! 
 
 To whom, unfriended, should I flee ? 
 
 Reject me not ! 
 
 To whom, my Father, but to Thee ? 
 Ah ! 'T was thy child forgave the sin 
 Of the repentant Magdalen 
 And blessed the thief on Calvary ! 
 
 Reject me not ! 
 105
 
 A ROSE 
 
 A SINGLE rose in yonder ruined bed 
 Makes beauty where all beauty else had fled ; 
 Like love, which, careless or of time or death, 
 About earth's shattered hopes its tendrils wreath 
 ing, 
 
 Blooms in the wilderness, divinely breathing, 
 Till all around grows fragrant with its breath. 
 1 06
 
 REVEILLE 
 
 WHAT frolic zephyr through the young leaves 
 
 plays, 
 
 Scattering fragrance delicate and sweet ? 
 What impulse new moves Robin to repeat 
 To pale Anemone his roundelays ? 
 What winning wonder fills the world with praise 
 In this mysterious time ? Lo, all things greet 
 A loved one, new redeemed from death's de 
 feat 
 
 A youth whose languid head fair nymphs up 
 raise ! 
 
 For him the crocus dons his bravery, 
 And violets, for him, their censers swing \ 
 For him the shy arbutus, blushfully, 
 Peeps through the mosses that about her cling ; 
 Adonis wakes ! Awake, earth's minstrelsy ! 
 In swelling diapason hymn the Spring ! 
 107
 
 TRUE LOVE 
 
 TRUE love is not a conquest won, 
 
 But a perpetual winning, 
 A tireless service bravely done 
 
 And ever new-beginning ; 
 
 Gold will not buy it for to-day 
 Nor keep it for to-morrow, 
 
 From Pleasure's paths it turns away, 
 To make its bed with Sorrow. 
 
 White, Aphrodite, are thy doves, 
 But 'neath their snows are burning 
 
 Undying flames, and he who loves 
 Aspires with flame-like yearning; 
 
 Aspires unto a far-off bliss 
 
 Whose vision makes him younger, 
 And moved to rapture by thy kiss, 
 
 Still for thy soul doth hunger ! 
 1 08
 
 EASTER 
 
 I KNOW the Summer fell asleep 
 
 Long weary months ago ; 
 Heaped high above her grave I saw 
 
 The heavy winter snow j v 
 Say, sparrow, then, what word you bring ; 
 
 Is it her requiem you sing ? 
 
 The meadow lark is mute, the wren 
 
 Forgets his late abode, 
 No throstle answering fluteth near, 
 
 Yet never prelude flowed 
 From ivied bosk or verdant slope 
 
 More brimming with delight and hope ! 
 
 I, listening, seem to see the blooms 
 
 That were whilom so dear, 
 And voices loved and silent long 
 
 I, listening, seem to hear ; 
 And longings in my breast confer, 
 
 And sweet, prophetic pulses stir. 
 
 " Thou lonely one," they seem to say, 
 " Lost Summer shall return ; 
 109
 
 i io EASTER 
 
 Wreathed in her shadowy tresses shall 
 
 The roses blissful burn ; 
 Wan lilies at her feet shall lie, 
 
 And wind-flowers on her bosom sigh. 
 
 " Here, from this rough and lowly bed, 
 
 The little celandine 
 Shall lift her sunny glances to 
 
 The balmy eglantine ; 
 And flags shall flaunt by yonder lake, 
 
 And fair Narcissus there awake." 
 
 I know the Summer fell asleep 
 
 Long weary months ago ; 
 But ah ! all is not lost, poor heart, 
 
 That 's laid beneath the snow ; 
 There wait, grown cold to care and strife, 
 
 Things costliest, dying into life : 
 
 All changes, but Life ceases not 
 With the suspended breath ; 
 
 There is no bourne to Being, and 
 No permanence in Death ; 
 
 Time flows to an eternal sea, 
 Space widens to Infinity !
 
 ART 
 
 SHE stood a vision vestureless and fair, 
 Glowing the canvas with her orient grace : 
 A goddess grave she stood, with such a face 
 As in Elysium the immortals wear. 
 But some, unworthy, as they pondered there, 
 Cold to the marvel of her look divine 
 Saw but a form undraped, in Beauty's shrine. 
 
 Then she, it seemed, rebuked them: "Old and 
 
 young 
 
 Have worshiped at the temple where I breathe, 
 
 And deathless laurels, for my sake, enwreathe 
 
 The brows of him from whose pure thought I 
 
 sprung : 
 
 Lips consecrate as yours his praise have sung, 
 Who neither sued for praise nor courted ease, 
 But reverently wrought, as from his knees. 
 
 " No raiment can the base or mean reclaim, 
 And that which sacred is must sacred be, 
 Clothed but in rags or robed in modesty. 
 In the endeavor still is felt the aim : 
 The workman may by skill exalt his name,
 
 H2 ART 
 
 But, toiling fault and failure to redeem, 
 Cannot create what 's loftier than his dream ! 
 
 " For chaste must be the soul that chastely sees, 
 The thought enlightened, and the insight sure 
 That separates the pure from the impure ; 
 
 And who Earth's humblest faith from error frees, 
 
 Awakening ideal sympathies, 
 
 Uplifts the savage from his kindred sod ; 
 
 Who shows him beauty speaks to him of God ! "
 
 SONG 
 
 THE new-born leaves unfolding fast 
 
 Make nests of green on every bough ; 
 The pilgrim birds, their wanderings past, 
 With joy return, but thou, my love, 
 Oh, where, my love, art thou ? 
 
 Soft tumults fill the balmy air, 
 
 Faint breathings of the flowers to be ; 
 Life glows and gladdens everywhere, 
 But I am lone for thee, my love, 
 Oh, lone, my love, for thee ! 
 
 Give me the voice of moaning pines, 
 
 The frozen wold, the wind-worn space ; 
 Give me the winter Earth resigns, 
 But let me see thy face, my love, 
 Oh, let me see thy face ! 
 "3
 
 A MAID'S DEFENSE 
 
 'TWERE little to renounce what now I hold, 
 Such riches as make poor: a pomp that tires, 
 A vernal glow that kindles autumn fires, 
 A youth that, wasteful in its haste, grows old ; 
 
 T were little to relinquish pleasure doled 
 In meagre measure to my swift desires, 
 To give what nor delights me nor inspires, 
 In free exchange for Love's all-prized gold ; 
 
 Yet there is something it were pain to yield, 
 
 Which I should part with, Love, in welcoming 
 
 thee: 
 A shy uncertainty that dearer seems 
 
 Than e'en thy gifts, and is my fence and shield : 
 The dim ideal of my waking dreams, 
 The Love unknown, that distant, beckons me ! 
 "4
 
 REJECTED 
 
 THE World denies her prophets with rash breath, 
 
 Makes rich her slaves, her flatterers adorns ; 
 To wisdom's lips she presses drowsy death, 
 
 And on the brow Divine a crown of thorns. 
 Yet blessed, though neglected and despised 
 
 Who for the World himself hath sacrificed, 
 Who hears unmoved her witless mockery, 
 
 While to his spirit, slighted and misprized, 
 Whisper the voices of Eternity ! 
 "5
 
 AT BREAK OF DAY 
 
 I THOUGHT that past the gates of doom, 
 Where Orpheus played a strain divine 
 Of love importunate as mine, 
 
 Unto the dwellings of the dead I came through 
 paths of gloom. 
 
 Around me, looming dark through cloud, 
 Vast walls arose whence mournful fell 
 The shadow and the hush of hell ; 
 
 And silence, brooding, palpable, inwrappcd me like 
 a shroud. 
 
 Naught blossomed there ; in that chill place 
 Where longing dwells divorced from hope, 
 Naught to a joyless horoscope 
 
 Lent prophecies of future grace, but I beheld 
 thy face I 
 
 And I awoke, songs trembling near, 
 Awoke and saw day's chariot pass 
 Bright gleaming o'er the meadow-grass, 
 And knew this glad earth, without thee, than realms 
 of death more drear ! 
 116
 
 HOMEWARD 
 
 WHEN I come to my Father's house he will hear me 
 
 I shall not need 
 
 With words implore 
 Compassion at my Father's door ; 
 With yearning mute my heart will plead, 
 And my Father's heart will hear me. 
 
 One thought all the day hath still caressed me : 
 
 Though cloud o'ercast 
 
 Is the way I go, 
 
 Though steep is the hill I must climb, yet, oh, 
 When evening falls and the light is past, 
 At my Father's house I will rest me ! 
 
 For thither, whatsoe'er betide me, 
 Howe'er I stray, 
 Beset by fears, 
 
 Wearied by effort, or blinded by tears, 
 Ah, surely I shall find my way, 
 
 Though none there be to guide me ! 
 117
 
 TO-MORROW 
 
 THE robin chants when the thrush is dumb, 
 Snow smooths a bed for the clover, 
 
 Life flames anew, and days to come 
 Are sweet as the days that are over. 
 
 The tide that ebbs by the moon flows back, 
 Faith builds on the ruins of sorrow, 
 
 The halcyon flutters in winter's track, 
 And night makes way for the morrow. 
 
 And ever a strain, of joys the sum, 
 Sings on in the heart of the lover 
 
 In death sings on that days to come 
 Are sweet as the days that are over I 
 it8
 
 SIBERIA 
 
 THE night-wind drives across the leaden skies, 
 And fans the brooding earth with icy wings ; 
 Against the coast loud-booming billows flings, 
 And soughs through forest-deeps with moaning 
 sighs. 
 
 Above the gorge, where snow, deep fallen, lies 
 A softness lending e'en to savage things 
 Above the gelid source of mountain springs, 
 A solitary eagle, circling, flies. 
 
 O pathless woods, O isolating sea, 
 
 O steppes interminable, hopeless, cold, 
 O grievous distances, imagine ye, 
 
 Imprisoned here, the human soul to hold ? 
 Free, in a dungeon, as yon falcon free, 
 It soars beyond your ken, its loved ones to in 
 fold! 
 
 119
 
 VICTORY 
 
 PEACE ! for the silver bugles play, 
 And the glad fifes, with shriller sound ; 
 
 The drum beats fast, and, far away, 
 Awakens joy profound. 
 
 From dawn unto the setting sun 
 We battled, and our foes have lost ; 
 
 O heart, my heart, the day is won, 
 Break thou, and pay the cost ! 
 120
 
 STANZA 
 
 THE voices of all waters that make moan 
 Loudly upbraiding the impassive sky, 
 Have not the meaning of one human groan, 
 Have not the pathos of one human sigh ; 
 And neither that blithe strain whereby 
 The brook doth wintry doubts destroy, 
 Nor that pure rhapsody the woodland sings, 
 When Summer to its heart contentment brings, 
 Breathes unto Heaven such praise as human joy !
 
 DEATH 
 
 I AM the key that parts the gates of Fame j 
 I am the cloak that covers cowering Shame ; 
 I am the final goal of every race ; 
 I am the storm-tossed spirit's resting-place : 
 
 The messenger of sure and swift relief, 
 Welcomed with wailings and reproachful grief ; 
 The friend of those that have no friend but me, 
 I break all chains, and set all captives free. 
 
 I am the cloud that, when Earth's day is done, 
 An instant veils an unextinguished sun ; 
 I am the brooding hush that follows strife, 
 The waking from a dream that Man calls Life ! 
 122
 
 SONG 
 
 IF love were not, the wilding rose 
 Would in its leafy heart inclose 
 No chalice of perfume ; 
 
 By mossy bank, in glen, or grot, 
 No bird would build, if love were not, 
 No flower complacent bloom. 
 
 The sunset clouds would lose their dyes, 
 The light would fade from beauty's eyes, 
 The stars their fires consume, 
 
 And something missed from hall and cot 
 Would leave the world, if love were not, 
 A wilderness of gloom ! 
 123
 
 LIMITATION 
 
 As when the imperial bird, wide-circling, soars 
 From his lonely eyrie, towered above the seas 
 That wash the wild and rugged Hebrides, 
 A force which he unconsciously adores 
 Bounds the majestic flight that heaven explores, 
 And droops his haughty wing; as when the 
 
 breeze 
 
 Tempts to o'erleap their changeless boundaries 
 The waves that tumble foaming to those shores ; 
 So thou, my soul ! impatient of restriction, 
 With deathless hopes and longings all aglow, 
 Aspirest still, and still the stern prediction 
 Stays thee, as them, "No further shalt thou 
 
 go!" 
 
 But, ah 1 the eagle feels not thine affliction, 
 Nor can the broken waves thy disappointment 
 know. 
 
 124
 
 RHAPSODY 
 
 As the mother-bird to the waiting nest, 
 As the regnant moon to the sea, 
 
 As joy to the heart that hath first been blest - 
 So is my love to me ! 
 
 Sweet as the song of the lark that soars 
 From the net of the fowler free, 
 
 Sweet as the morning that song adores 
 So is my love to me ! 
 
 As the rose that blossoms in matchless grace 
 Where the canker may not be, 
 
 As the well that springs in a desert place 
 So is my love to me ! 
 125
 
 TO FRANCE 
 (1894) 
 
 MOTHER of Freedom ! Mother and fond nurse ! 
 Who, from thy mighty loins, with awful throes 
 And cries of anguish bore her ! what new woes 
 
 Encompass thee ? What long-forgotten curse 
 
 Revives to chill thy soul and dull its seeing ? 
 Veiled are thy falcon-glances, as in death : 
 Thou bleedest, France ! and, sobbing, drawest 
 breath, 
 
 Sore smitten by the thing thou gavest being 1 
 
 Is this thine offspring once so nobly fair 
 That at her look were riven human chains, 
 And all men blessed thee for thy travail pains ? 
 
 Behold! with serpents writhing in her hair 
 
 She stands, Medusa-like, the world appalling ! 
 Her bloodless cheeks bespeak the vampire's lust ; 
 Her victims fall before her in the dust ; 
 
 Yet, unappeased, she still would see them falling. 
 
 Is this blest Liberty, this treacherous thing 
 That hides its venom 'neath a mask of flowers, 
 That smites its own defenders, and devours 
 126
 
 TO FRANCE 127 
 
 The hands that feed it ? This whose rancorous 
 sting 
 
 Is uncontrolled by reason ? Red and gory, 
 The standard it uplifts on land and sea 
 Reveals it truly, hell-born Anarchy ! 
 
 Which borrows for its shame a name of glory. 
 
 Freedom disdains the cruel and the base, 
 Their praise she deems inexpiable wrong, 
 And in the homage of their savage song 
 
 She hears the voice of insult and disgrace. 
 
 Scorning the ransomed slaves who rule no better 
 Than the oppressors they in wrath hurl down, 
 Who make the Phrygian cap a despot's crown, 
 
 And others with their broken shackles fetter 
 
 She leaves them to the evils they invoke ; 
 And listening to the voices of the wild, 
 As listens for the mother's voice her child, 
 
 Courting the tempest and the lightning-stroke, 
 
 She opens to the void her pinions regal : 
 The clouds, the skies, she knows to be her own, 
 And rising to the mountain-summits lone, 
 
 She rests where rock the eyries of the eagle !
 
 LIFE 
 
 THOU art more ancient than the oldest skies, 
 But youth forever glances from thine eyes ; 
 
 Time wars against thee, and consumes thy fires, 
 Yet, winged, thou from ashes dost arise ! 
 128
 
 THE IDEAL 
 
 " Not the treasures is it that have awakened in me so unspeak 
 able a desire, but the Blue Flower is what I long to behold." 
 NOVALIS. 
 
 SOMETHING I may not win attracts me ever, 
 Something elusive, yet supremely fair, 
 
 Thrills me with gladness, but contents me never, 
 Fills me with sadness, yet forbids despair. 
 
 It blossoms just beyond the paths I follow, 
 It shines beyond the farthest stars I see, 
 
 It echoes faint from ocean caverns hollow, 
 And from the land of dreams it beckons me. 
 
 It calls, and all my best, with joyful feeling, 
 Essays to reach it as I make reply ; 
 
 I feel its sweetness o'er my spirit stealing, 
 Yet know ere I attain it I must die ! 
 129
 
 NANSEN 
 
 To drift with thee, not strive against thy tide, 
 All-powerful Nature ! to pursue thy law, 
 Attentive with devout and childlike awe 
 Heark'ning unto thy voice, and none beside : 
 
 To drift with thee 1 With thee for friend and guide 
 In fragile bark, careless of cold or thaw, 
 To brave the ice-pack and the dread sea-maw ! 
 So are man's conquests won, so glorified. 
 
 The truest compass is the seeing soul. 
 
 Oh, wond'ring earth ! did not thy spirit glow, 
 Calling to mind the deathless Genoese, 
 
 As Nansen, pilot of the frozen Pole, 
 Like a young Viking rode the icy floe, 
 Wresting their secret from the Arctic Seas ? 
 '30
 
 TO THE VICTOR 
 
 You have outstripped me in the race, 
 Your brow shall wear the laurel's grace ; 
 But though on-speeding in your might 
 You pass beyond my straining sight, 
 My spirit shall with yours keep pace ! 
 
 For I have dreamed your dream divine, 
 For I have worshiped at the shrine 
 Whose oracles your faith have moved, 
 For I have loved what you have loved 
 Your victory is also mine ! 
 
 Shall the grave gods pronounce their choice 
 And I not lift in praise my voice ? 
 Or shall another win the goal 
 Whose vision hath illumed my soul, 
 And I, though distant, not rejoice ? 
 
 Ah, no ! Your greater gifts prevail ; 
 But though to reach your side I fail, 
 
 Through you triumphant in defeat, 
 
 Even in death I will repeat, 
 Hail to the victor ! Hail ! . . . 
 131
 
 LOVE CONQUERS DEATH 
 
 LOVE conquers Death by night and day, 
 Beguiles him long of his destined prey ; 
 And when, at last, that seems to perish 
 Which he hath striven still to cherish, 
 Love plucks the soul from the fallen clay. 
 
 Death is not master, but Love's slave : 
 He smites the timid and the brave ; 
 Yet as he fares, with sweet low laughter, 
 Love, the sower, follows after, 
 Scattering seed in each new-made grave t 
 13*
 
 MEMORIA 
 
 IF only in my dreams I may behold thee, 
 
 Still hath the day a goal ; 
 If only in my dreams I may enfold thee, 
 
 Still hath the night a soul. 
 Leaden the hours may press upon my spirit 
 
 Nor one dear pledge redeem ; 
 I will not chide, so they at last inherit 
 
 And crown me with the rapture of that dream. 
 
 Ten thousand blossoms earth's gay gardens cher 
 ish ; 
 
 One pale, pale rose is mine. 
 Of frost or blight the rest may quickly perish ; 
 
 Not so that rose divine : 
 Deathless it blooms in quiet realms Elysian, 
 
 And when toil wins me rest, 
 Forgetful of all else, in blissful vision 
 
 I breathe my rose, and clasp it to my breast 1 
 133
 
 THROUGH THE RUSHES 
 
 THROUGH the rushes by the river 
 
 Runs a drowsy tremor sweet, 
 And the waters stir and shiver 
 
 In the darkness at their feet ; 
 
 From the sombre east up-stealing, 
 
 Gradual, with slow revealing, 
 
 Comes the dawn, and with a sigh, 
 
 Night goes by. 
 
 Here and there, to mildest wooing, 
 Folded buds are open blown ; 
 
 And the drops their leaves bedewing, 
 Like to seed-pearls thickly sown, 
 
 Sinking, with the blessing olden, 
 
 Deep into each calyx golden, 
 
 A supreme behest obey, 
 Then melt away. 
 
 And while robes of splendor trailing, 
 1 illy deck the glowing morn, 
 
 And a fragrance, fresh exhaling, 
 Greets her loveliness new-born, 
 '34
 
 THROUGH THE RUSHES 135 
 
 Midst divine melodic voicings, 
 Midst delicious mute rejoicings, 
 Strong as when the worlds began, 
 Awakens Pan !
 
 INDIA 
 
 SILENT amidst unbroken silence deep 
 Of dateless years, in loneliness supreme, 
 She pondered patiently one mighty theme, 
 And let the hours, uncounted, by her creep. 
 
 The motionless Himalayas, the broad sweep 
 Of glacial cataracts, great Ganges' stream 
 All these to her were but as things that seem, 
 Doomed all to pass, like phantoms viewed in 
 sleep. 
 
 Her history ? She has none scarce a name. 
 The life she lived is lost in the profound 
 Of time, which she despised ; but nothing mars 
 
 The memory that, single, gives her fame 
 She dreamed eternal dreams, and from the 
 
 ground 
 
 Still raised her yearning vision to the stars. 
 136
 
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