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beneath bird blossoms blue brain breath broken brook child clear close cloud color coming dark death deep dreams Earth edge Eternity eyes face faded fair fall farther fate fear feel feet fire flash float flowers foam forms gold grass half hand hear heart heaven hills hollow human land late learned leave lifted light lips live looks memory morning mountain naked never night ocean passion past play quiet rest ring ripple rises rock roof rose round scorn seems shadow shine silent silver sing sleep slowly snow Sometimes song soul sound spirit splendor spread stand stars stream strong tell thee thing thou thoughts Till tired toss touch trees turn voice walk warm watch wave weary wild wind wings WINTER
Page 87 - WHAT may we take into the vast Forever? That marble door Admits no fruit of all our long endeavor, No fame-wreathed crown we wore, No garnered lore. What can we bear beyond the unknown portal? No gold, no gains Of all our toiling: in the life immortal No hoarded wealth remains, Nor gilds, nor stains. Naked from out that far abyss behind us We entered here: No word came with our coming, to remind us What wondrous world was near, No hope, no fear. Into the silent, starless Night before us, Naked we...
Page 102 - I cannot weave one chord To float into their hearts my last warm word, Before I go. " I would be satisfied if I might tell, Before I go, That one warm word, how I have loved them well, Could they but know! And would have gained for them some gleam of good; Have sought it long; still seek — if but I could! Before I go. " 'Tis a child's longing, on the beach at play: ' Before I go,' He begs the beckoning mother, ' Let me stay One shell to throw!
Page 98 - SKY in its lucent splendor lifted Higher than cloud can be ; Air with no breath of earth to stain it, Pure on the perfect sea. Crests that touch and tilt each other, Jostling as they comb ; Delicate crash of tinkling water, Broken in pearling foam. Flashings — or is it the pinewood's whispers, Babble of brooks unseen, Laughter of winds when they find the blossoms, Brushing aside the green ? Waves that dip, and dash, and sparkle ; Foam-wreaths slipping by, Soft as a snow of broken roses Afloat over...
Page 10 - Drops silently to the wave afar; The land where summers never cease Their sunny psalm of light and peace. Whose moonlight, poured for years untold, Has drifted down in dust of gold ; Whose morning splendors, fallen in showers, Leave ceaseless sunrise in the flowers.
Page 99 - ... stain it, Pure on the perfect sea. Crests that touch and tilt each other, Jostling as they comb ; Delicate crash of tinkling water, Broken in pearling foam. Flashings — or is it the pinewood's whispers, Babble of brooks unseen, Laughter of winds when they find the blossoms, Brushing aside the green ? Waves that dip, and dash, and sparkle ; Foam-wreaths slipping by, Soft as a snow of broken roses Afloat over mirrored sky. Off to the East the steady sun-track Golden meshes fill — Webs of fire,...
Page 105 - BEFORE SUNRISE IN WINTER A PURPLE cloud hangs half-way down ; Sky, yellow gold below; The naked trees, beyond the town, Like masts against it show, — Bare masts and spars of our earth-ship, With shining snow-sails furled; And through the sea of space we slip, That flows all round the world.
Page 77 - Time leads us dimly on, till angrily Tired life would turn and throttle its stern guide, Till he should tell us whither and how long. But Time gives back no answer, and the stars Burn on, cold, hushed, and changeless as before, And we go back baffled and stolidly To the old, weary, hollow-hearted world ; To the old, endless search for life in death — The restless, hopeless roaming after rest.
Page 103 - Tis a child's longing, on the beach at play: ' Before I go,' He begs the beckoning mother, ' Let me stay One shell to throw! ' 'Tis coming night; the great sea climbs the shore, — ' Ah, let me toss one little pebble more, Before I go!
Page 83 - ... man lose, lest all his wayward youth He waste in song and dance ; That he might gain, in searching, mightier powers For manlier use in those foreshadowed hours. If, blindly groping, he shall oft mistake, And follow twinkling motes Thinking them stars, and the one voice forsake Of Wisdom for the notes Which mocking Beauty utters here and there, Thou surely wilt forgive him, and forbear ! Oh, love us, for we love thee, Maker — God! And would creep near thy hand, And call thee
Page 42 - An April, fairer than the Atlantic June, Whose calendar of perfect days was kept By daily blossoming of some new flower. The fields, whose carpets now were silken white, Next week were orange-velvet, next, sea-blue. It was as if some central fire of bloom, From which in other climes a random root Is now and then shot up, here had burst forth And overflowed the fields, and set the land Aflame with flowers. I watched them day by day, How at the dawn they wake, and open wide Their little petal-windows,...