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And the foam was white in her wake like snow,

And her frail mast bowed when the breeze would blow, And bent like a wand of willow.

I shaded mine eyes one day when a boat
Went curtsying over the billow,

I marked her course till a dancing mote,

She faded out on the moonlit foam,

And I stayed behind in the dear-loved home; And my thoughts all day were about the boat, And my dreams upon the pillow.

I pray you hear my song of a boat

For it is but short:

:

My boat you shall find none fairer afloat,

In river or port.

Long I looked out for the lad she bore,

On the open desolate sea,

And I think he sailed to the heavenly shore,

For he came not back to me

A song of a nest:

Ah me!

There was once a nest in a hollow:

Down in the mosses and knot-grass pressed,

Soft and warm and full to the brim

Vetches leaned over it purple, and dim,

With buttercup buds to follow.

I pray you hear my song of a nest,

For it is not long:

You shall never light in a summer quest

The bushes among

Shall never light on a prouder sitter,
A fairer nestful, nor ever know
A softer sound than their tender twitter,
That wind-like did come and go.

I had a nestful once of my own,

Ah, happy, happy I!

Right dearly I loved them; but when they were grown They spread out their wings to fly—

Songs of Seven

Oh, one after one they flew away

Far up to the heavenly blue,
To the better country, the upper day,
And I wish I was going too.

I pray you what is the nest to me,
My empty nest?

And what is the shore where I stood to see
My boat sail down to the west?

Can I call that home where I anchor yet,
Though my good man has sailed?

Can I call that home where my nest was set,
Now all its hope hath failed?

Nay, but the port where my sailor went,
And the land where my nestlings be:

There is the home where my thoughts are sent,

The only home for me—

Ah me!

415

Jean Ingelow [1820-1897]

LOOKING BACKWARD

THE RETREAT

HAPPY those early days, when I
Shined in my Angel-infancy!
Before I understood this place
Appointed for my second race,
Or taught my soul to fancy aught
But a white, celestial thought;
When yet I had not walked above
A mile or two from my first Love,
And looking back, at that short space,
Could see a glimpse of His bright face;
When on some gilded cloud or flower
My gazing soul would dwell an hour,
And in those weaker glories spy
Some shadows of eternity;

Before I taught my tongue to wound
My Conscience with a sinful sound,
Or had the black art to dispense
A several sin to every sense;

But felt through all this fleshly dress
Bright shoots of everlastingness.

O how I long to travel back,

And tread again that ancient track!

That I might once more reach that plain
Where first I left my glorious train;
From whence the enlightened spirit sees
That shady City of Palm-trees.
But ah! my soul with too much stay
Is drunk, and staggers in the way!
Some men a forward motion love,
But I by backward steps would move;
And, when this dust falls to the urn,

In that state I came,

return.

Henry Vaughan [1622-1695]

Castles in the Air

A SUPERSCRIPTION

Look in my face; my name is Might-have-been;
I am also called No-more, Too-late, Farewell;
Unto thine ear I hold the dead-sea shell

Cast up thy Life's foam-fretted feet between;
Unto thine eyes the glass where that is seen
Which had Life's form and Love's, but by my spell
Is now a shaken shadow intolerable,

Of ultimate things unuttered the frail screen.

Mark me, how still I am! But should there dart

One moment through thy soul the soft surprise

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Of that winged Peace which lulls the breath of sighs,Then shalt thou see me smile, and turn apart

Thy visage to mine ambush at thy heart

Sleepless with cold commemorative eyes.

Dante Gabriel Rossetti [1828-1882]

THE CHILD IN THE GARDEN

WHEN to the garden of untroubled thought
I came of late, and saw the open door,

And wished again to enter, and explore

The sweet, wild ways with stainless bloom inwrought,
And bowers of innocence with beauty fraught,

It seemed some purer voice must speak before
I dared to tread that garden loved of yore,
That Eden lost unknown and found unsought.
Then just within the gate I saw a child,-
A stranger-child, yet to my heart most dear,—
Who held his hands to me and softly smiled
With eyes that knew no shade of sin or fear;
"Come in," he said, "and play awhile with me;
I am the little child you used to be."

Henry Van Dyke (1852

CASTLES IN THE AIR

My thoughts by night are often filled

With visions false as fair:

For in the Past alone I build

My castles in the air.

I dwell not now on what may be;
Night shadows o'er the scene;
But still my fancy wanders free

Through that which might have been.
Thomas Love Peacock (1785-1866]

SOMETIMES

ACROSS the fields of yesterday

He sometimes comes to me,
A little lad just back from play-
The lad I used to be.

And yet he smiles so wistfully
Once he has crept within,

I wonder if he hopes to see
The man I might have been.

Thomas S. Jones, Jr. [1882

THE LITTLE GHOSTS

WHERE are they gone, and do you know
If they come back at fall o' dew,
The little ghosts of long ago,

That long ago were you?

And all the songs that ne'er were sung,

And all the dreams that ne'er came true,

Like little children dying young

Do they come back to you?

Thomas S. Jones, Jr. [1882

MY OTHER ME

CHILDREN, do you ever,

In walks by land or sea,

Meet a little maiden

Long time lost to me?

She is gay and gladsome,
Has a laughing face,
And a heart as sunny;

And her name is Grace.

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