A giant came to me when I was young,
My instant will to ask—
My earthly Servant, from the earth he sprung
Eager for any task!
“What wilt thou, O my Master?” he began,
“Whatever can be,” I.
“Say thy first wish—whate’er thou wilt I can,”
The Strong Slave made reply.
“Enter the earth and bring its riches forth,
...
strong in thy steadfast purpose, be
Like some brave master of the sea,
Whose keel, by Titan pulses quickened, knows
His will where’er he goes.
Some isle, palm-roofed, in spiced Pacific air
He seeks—though solitary zones apart,
Its place long fixed on his deep-studied chart.
Fierce winds, your wild confusion make!
...
On Her Art of Growing Old Gracefully
YOU ask a verse, to sing (ah, laughing face!)
Your happy art of growing old with grace?
O Muse, begin, and let the truth—but hold!
First let me see that you are growing old.
A Seaside Portrait
A GREAT, still Shape, alone,
She sits (her harp has fallen) on the sand,
And sees her children, one by one, depart:—
Her cloak (that hides what sins beside her own!)
Wrapped fold on fold about her. Lo,
She comforts her fierce heart,
As wailing some, and some gay-singing go,
With the far vision of that...
