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To see him die, across the waste
Every one for his own.
How hard he breathes ! over the snow
Shake hands, before you die.
His face is growing sharp and thin.
his chin : Step from the corpse, and let him in That standeth there alone,
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
Even with a verse your holy woe.
'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
He lends us; but, when love is grown To ripeness, that on which it throve
Falls off, and love is left alone.
In grief I am not all unlearned ;
One went, who never hath returned.
He will not smile—not speak to me
Two years his chair is seen Empty before us. That was he
Without whose life I had not been.
Rose with you through a little arc
Shot on the sudden into dark.
I knew your brother : his mute dust
I honor, and his living worth :
A man more pure and bold and just
Was never born into the earth.
I have not looked upon you nigh,
Since that dear soul hath fallen asleep. Great Nature is more wise than I:
I will not tell you not to weep.
And though my own eyes fill with dew,
Drawn from the spirit through the brain,
She loveth her own anguish deep
Be done—to weep or not to weep.
XII. I will not say
“ God's ordinance Of Death is blown in every wind; For that is not a common chance
That takes away a noble mind.
His memory long will live alone
In all our hearts, as mournful light That broods above the fallen sun,
And dwells in heaven half the night.
Vain solace! Memory standing near
Cast down her eyes, and in her throat Her voice seemed distant, and a tear
Dropt on the letters as I wrote.
How should I soothe you anyway,
Yet something I did wish to say:
Both are my friends, and my true breast Bleedeth for both ;, yet it may be
That only silence suitetủ best.
"Twere better I should cease Although myself could almost take
The place of him that sleeps in peace :
Sleep sweetly, tender heart, in peace :
Sleep, holy spirit, blessed soul,
And the great ages onward roll.
Sleep till the end, true soul and sweet.
Nothing comes to thee new or strange. Sleep full of rest from head to feet;
Lie still, dry dust, secure of change.
YOU ASK ME, WHY, THOUGH ILL
You ask me, why, though ill at ease,
Within this region I subsist,
Whose spirits falter in the mist, And languish for the purple seas ?
It is the land that freemen till,
That sober-suited Freedom chose,
The land where, girt with friends or foes. A man may speak the thing he will ; A land of settled government,
A land of just and old renown,
Where Freedom broadens slowly down From precedent to precedent: Where faction seldom gathers head,
But by degrees to fulness wrought,
The strength of some diffusive 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;
Though Power should make from land to land
The name of Britain trebly great
Though every channel of the State Should almost choke with golden sand
Yet waft me from the harbor-mouth,
Wild wind! I seek a warmer sky,
And I will see before I die
“ OF OLD SAT FREEDOM ON THE
OF old sat Freedom on the heights,
The thunders breaking at her feet: Above her shook the starry lights:
She heard the torrents meet.