He, I suppose, with such a care to carry,

Wander'd disconsolate and waited long, Smiting his breast, wherein the notes would tarry,

Chiding the slumber of the seed of song:

Then in the sudden glory of a minute

Airy and excellent the proem came, Rending his bosom, for a god was in it, Waking the seed, for it had burst in flame.

So even I athirst for his inspiring,

I who have talk'd with Him forget again, Yes, many days with sobs and with desiring Offer to God a patience and a pain;

Then through the mid complaint of my confession,

Then through the pang and passion of my prayer,

Leaps with a start the shock of his possession,

Thrills me and touches, and the Lord is there.

Lo, if some pen should write upon your rafter

MENE and MENE in the folds of flame, Think you could any memories thereafter Wholly retrace the couplet as it came?

Lo, if some strange intelligible thunder

Sang to the earth the secret of a star, Scarce could ye catch, for terror and for wonder,

Shreds of the story that was peal'd so far.

A LAST APPEAL

O SOMEWHERE, somewhere, God unknown, Exist and be!

I am dying; I am all alone;

I must have thee!

God! God! my sense, my soul, my all,
Dies in the cry :—

Saw'st thou the faint star flame and fall?
Ah! it was I.

IMMORTALITY

So when the old delight is born anew,
And God re-animates the early bliss,
Seems it not all as one first trembling kiss
Ere soul knew soul with whom she has to
do?

O nights how desolate, O days how few,
O death in life, if life be this, be this!
O weigh'd alone as one shall win or miss
The faint eternity which shines therethro' !
Lo, all that age is as a speck of sand
Lost on the long beach where the tides are
free,

And no man metes it in his hollow hand
Nor cares to ponder it, how small it be ;
At ebb it lies forgotten on the land
And at full tide forgotten in the sea.

A LETTER FROM NEWPORT φαίη κ' ἀθανάτους καὶ ἀγήρως ἔμμεναι αἰεὶ ὃς τότ ̓ ἐπαντιάσεἰ ὅτ ̓ Ἰάονες ἄθροοι εἶεν. THE crimson leafage fires the lawn,

The pil'd hydrangeas blazing glow; How blue the vault of breezy dawn

Illumes the Atlantic's crested snow! 'Twixt sea and sands how fair to ride

Through whispering airs a starlit way, And watch those flashing towers divide Heaven's darkness from the darkling bay!

Ah, friend, how vain their pedant's part, Their hurrying toils how idly spent, How have they wrong'd the gentler heart Which thrills the awakening continent, Who have not learnt on this bright shore What sweetness issues from the strong, Where flowerless forest, cataract-roar,

Have found a blossom and a song!

Ah, what imperial force of fate
Links our one race in high emprize!
Nor aught henceforth can separate
Those glories mingling as they rise;
For one in heart, as one in speech,

At last have Child and Mother grown,
Fair Figures! honoring each in each

A beauty kindred with her own.

Through English eyes more calmly soft Looks from gray deeps the appealing charm;

Reddens on English cheeks more oft

The rose of innocent alarm ; Our old-world heart more gravely feels,. Has learnt more force, more self-control;

For us through sterner music peals

The full accord of soul and soul.

SEEMS not our breathing light? Sound not our voices free? Bid to Life's festal bright

No gladder guests there be.

Ah stranger, lay aside

Cold prudence! I divine The secret you would hide, And you conjecture mine.

You too have temperate eyes, Have put your heart to school, Are prov'd. I recognize

A brother of the rule.

I knew it by your lip,

A something when you smil'd, Which meant "close scholarship, A master of the guild."

Well, and how good is life;

Good to be born, have breath, The calms good, and the strife, Good life, and perfect death.

Come, for the dancers wheel,

Join we the pleasant din, Comrade, it serves to feel

The sackcloth next the skin.

LEONARDO'S "MONNA LISA”

MAKE thyself known, Sibyl, or let despair
Of knowing thee be absolute: I wait
Hour-long and waste a soul. What word of
fate

Hides 'twixt the lips which smile and still forbear?

Secret perfection! Mystery too fair!
Tangle the sense no more, lest I should hate
The delicate tyranny, the inviolate
Poise of thy folded hands, the fallen hair.

A LONELY way, and as I went my eyes Could not unfasten from the Spring's sweet things,

Lush-sprouted grass, and all that climbs and clings

In loose, deep hedges, where the primrose lies

In her own fairness, buried blooms surprise The plunderer bee and stop his murmurings,

And the glad flutter of a finch's wings Outstartle small blue-speckled butterflies. Blissfully did one speedwell plot beguile My whole heart long; I lov'd each separate flower,

Kneeling. I look'd up suddenly —Dear God!

There stretch'd the shining plain for many

a mile,

The mountains rose with what invincible power!

And how the sky was fathomless and broad!