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* The light white cloud swam over us.
Anon We heard the lion roaring from his
I am that Rosamond, whom men call
fair, If what I was I be.
• Would I had been some maiden coarse
Desiring what is mingled with past and poor!
years, O me, that I should ever see the light!
In yearnings that can never be exprest
By sighs or groans or tears;
Because all words, tho'cull d with choicest
art, trust :
Failing to give the bitter of the sweet, To whom the Egyptian: 'Oh, you
Wither beneath the palate, and the heart tamely died !
Faints, faded by its heat.
O BLACKBIRD! sing me something well:
While all the neighbours shoot thee creeping beams,
round, Stol'n to my brain, dissolved the mystery
I keep smooth plats of fruitful ground, Of folded sleep. The captain of my
Where thou may'st warble, eat and dwell. dreams Ruled in the eastern sky.
The espaliers and the standards all
Are thine; the range of lawn and Morn broaden'd on the borders of the dark,
park: Ere I saw her, who clasp'd in her last
The unnetted black-hearts ripen dark, trance
All thine, against the garden wall.
Yet, tho' I spared thee all the spring,
Thy sole delight is, sitting still,
With that gold dagger of thy bill her who knew that Love can vanquish
To fret the summer jenneting.
A golden bill! the silver tongue,
Cold February loved, is dry:
Plenty corrupts the melody
That made thee famous once, when Sweet as new buds in Spring.
And in the sultry garden-squares;
Now thy flute-notes are changed to hidden ore
coarse, That glimpses, moving up, than I from
I hear thee not at all, or hoarse sleep
As when a hawker hawks his wares. To gather and tell o'er
Take warning! he that will not sing Each little sound and sight. With what
While yon sun prospers in the blue, dull pain
Shall sing for want, ere leaves are new, Compass'd, how eagerly I sought to
Caught in the frozen palms of Spring. strike Into that wondrous track of dreams again!
THE DEATH OF THE OLD
Full knee-deep lies the winter snow,
And the winter winds are wearily sighblest,
Step from the corpse, and let him in
And waiteth at the door.
TO J. S. The wind, that beats the mountain, blows
More softly round the open wold, And gently comes the world to those
That are cast in gentle mould.
And me this knowledge bolder made,
Or else I had not dared to flow In these words toward you, and invade
Even with a verse your holy woe.
Toll ye the church-bell sad and slow
Old year, you must not die;
Old year, you shall not die.
Old year, you must not go;
Old year, you shall not go.
Old year, you shall not die;
Old year, if you must die.
Every one for his own.
Comes up to take his own.
Shake hands, before you die.
Speak out before you die.
'Tis strange that those we lean on most,
Those in whose laps our limbs are
nursed, Fall into shadow, soonest lost :
Those we love first are taken first.
God gives us love. Something to love
Helends us; but, when love is grown To ripeness, that on which it throve
Falls off, and love is left alone.
This is the curse of time. Alas!
In grief I am not all unlearn'd; Once thro’mine own doors Death'did pass;
One went, who never hath return'd.
He will not smile not speak to me
Two years his chair is
Empty before us. That was he
Without whose life I had not been.
Your loss is rarer; for this star
Rose with you thro' a little arc Of heaven, nor having wander'd far
Shot on the sudden into dark.
I knew your brother: his mute dust
I honour and his living worth : A man more pure and bold and just
Was never born into the earth.
Thro' silence and the trembling stars Comes Faith from tracts no feet have
trod, And Virtue, like a household god
Of old sat Freedom on the heights,
The thunders breaking at her feet: Above her shook the starry lights :
She heard the torrents meet.
Promising empire; such as those
Once heard at dead of night to greet Troy's wandering prince, so that he rose
With sacrifice, while all the fleet
There in her place she did rejoice,
Self-gather'd in her prophet-mind, But fragments of her mighty voice
Came rolling on the wind.
Then stept she down thro' town and
To mingle with the human race, And part by part to men reveal'd
The fullness of her face
Grave mother of majestic works,
From her isle-altar gazing down, Who, God-like, grasps the triple forks,
And, King-like, wears the crown: Her open eyes desire the truth.
The wisdom of a thousand years Is in them. May perpetual youth
Keep dry their light from tears;
You ask me, why, tho’ill at ease,
Within this region I subsist,
Whose spirits falter in the mist,
That sober-suited Freedom chose,
A land of just and old renown,
But by degrees to fullness wrought,
thought Hath time and space to work and spread. Should banded unions persecute
Opinion, and induce a time
When single thought is civil crime, And individual freedom mute;
That her fair form may stand and shine,
Make bright our days and light oui
dreams, Turning to scorn with lips divine
The falsehood of extremes !
LOVE thou thy land, with love far-brought
From out the storied Past, and used
Within the Present, but transfused Thro' future time by power of thought. True love turn'd round on fixed poles,
Love, that endures not sordid ends,
For English natures, freemen, friends, Thy brothers and immortal souls.
Tho' Power should make from land to
land The name of Britain trebly great
Tho' every channel of the State Should fill and choke with golden sand
But pamper not a hasty time,
Nor feed with crude imaginings
The herd, wild hearts and feeble wings That every sophister can lime.
Yet wast me from the harbour-mouth,
Wild wind! I seek a warmer sky,
And I will see before I die
Deliver not the tasks of might
To weakness, neither hide the ray From those, not blind, who wait for
day, Tho' sitting girt with doubtful light.