A little face there was, When all her pains were done, Beside that face I loved: They said it was a son. A son to me—how strange!— Who never was a man, But lived from change to change A boy, as I began. More boyish still the hope That leaped within me then, That I, matured in him, Should found a house of men; And all my wasted sheaves, Bound up in his ripe shock, Give seed to sterner times And name to sterner stock. He grew to that ideal, And blossomed in my sight; Strange questions filled his day, Sweet visions in the night, Till he could walk with me, Companion, hand in hand; But nothing seemed to be Like him, in Wonder-land. For he was leading me Beyond the bounds of mind, Far down Eternity, And I so far behind. One day an angel stepped Out of the idle sphere; The man had entered in, The boy is weeping here. My house is founded there In heaven that he has won. Shall I be outlawed, then, O Lord who hast my son? This grief that makes me old, These tears that make me pure. They tell me time is time, And only heaven mature.
In Rama
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Five Forks, April 1, 1865 HO! pony. Down the lonely road Strike now your cheeriest pace! The woods on fire do not burn higher Than burns my anxious face; Far have you sped, but all this night Must feel my nervous spur; If we be late, the world must wait The tidings we aver:— To home and...
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A little face there was, When all her pains were done, Beside that face I loved: They said it was a son. A son to me—how strange!— Who never was a man, But lived from change to change A boy, as I began. More boyish still the hope That leaped within me then, That I, matured in him,...
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Ho! pony. Down the lonely road Strike now your cheeriest pace! The woods on fire do not burn higher Than burns my anxious face; Far have you sped, but all this night Must feel my nervous spur; If we be late, the world must wait The tidings we aver:— To home and hamlet, town and hearth...