I hang my harp upon a tree, A weeping willow in a lake; I hang my silenced harp there, wrung and snapt Lie still, lie still, my breaking heart; My silent heart, lie still and break : Life, and the world, and mine own self, are changed For a dream's sake. SHUT OUT. HE door was shut. I looked between TH Its iron bars; and saw it lie, My garden, mine, beneath the sky, Pied with all flowers bedewed and green: From bough to bough the song-birds crossed, With all its nests and stately trees A shadowless spirit kept the gate, Blank and unchanging like the grave. He answered not. "Or give me, then, The spirit was silent; but he took So now I sit here quite alone Blinded with tears; nor grieve for that, For naught is left worth looking at Since my delightful land is gone. A violet bed is budding near, Wherein a lark has made her nest: And good they are, but not the best; And dear they are, but not so dear. S SOUND SLEEP. OME are laughing, some are weeping; Round her rest wild flowers are creeping; There are lilies, and there blushes In the west; a fresh wind brushes Through the leaves while evening hushes. There by day the lark is singing And the grass and weeds are springing; There forever winds are bringing Night and morning, noon and even, Such is the good portion given To her soul at rest and shriven. SONG. HE sat and sang alway SH By the green margin of a stream, Watching the fishes leap and play Beneath the glad sunbeam. I sat and wept alway Beneath the moon's most shadowy beam, Watching the blossoms of the May Weep leaves into the stream. I wept for memory; She sang for hope that is so fair: My tears were swallowed by the sea; Her songs died on the air. SONG. HEN I am dead, my dearest, W Sing no sad songs for me; Plant thou no roses at my head, And if thou wilt, forget. I shall not see the shadows, And dreaming through the twilight That doth not rise nor set, Haply I may remember, And haply may forget. A DEAD BEFORE DEATH. SONNET. H! changed and cold, how changed and very cold! With stiffened smiling lips and cold calm eyes: Changed, yet the same; much knowing, little wise: This was the promise of the days of old! Grown hard and stubborn in the ancient mould, We hoped for better things as years would rise, All fallen the blossom that no fruitage bore, All lost the present and the future time, All lost, all lost, the lapse that went before: So lost till death shut-to the opened door, So lost from chime to everlasting chime, So cold and lost forever evermore. BITTER FOR SWEET. UMMER is gone with all its roses, Yea, Autumn's chilly self is going, And the last buds cease blowing. |