Now, on a sudden, I know it, the secret, the secret of life. Why, the very green of the grass in the fields with betrayal is rife! The whirr of the grasshopper by the wayside proclaims it to all; ’T is unrolled as a scroll to all eyes in the curve of the waterfall. But, for me, I can only wonder at mortals,—the secret out; For they see, hear, taste, smell, feel not what Heaven reveals all about.
Now, on a sudden, I know it, the secret, the secret of life. Why, the very green of the grass in the fields with betrayal is rife! The whirr of the grasshopper by the wayside proclaims it to all; ’T is unrolled as a scroll to all eyes in the curve of the waterfall. But, for me, I can only wonder...
Not mine to draw the cloth-yard shaft From straining palm to thrilling ear; Then launch it through the monster’s hulk, One thrust, from front to rear. Mine is the Bushman’s tiny bow, Whose wounds the foeman hardly feels; He laughs, and lifts his hand to smite, Then suddenly he...
’t is something from that tangle to have won; ’T is something to have matched the wildbird’s flight; ’T is something to have soared and touched the sun. What though the lashing billows roar beneath? Better than death in life is life in death:—Good night!
The sea-bound landsman, looking back to shore, Now learns what land is highest:—not the ring Of hills that erewhile shut out everything Beyond them from him: these are seen no more; Nor yet the loftier heights that, from the lower, He saw far inland, blue, and, worship ping, Believed they...
Our mother, loved of all thy sons So dear, they die, not dying for thee; Yet are thy fondest, tenderest ones Thy wanderers far at sea. Life-long the bitter blue they stem, Till custom makes it almost fair; Sweet grow the splintering gales to them, The icy gloom, the scorching glare. But...
