All day and all day, as I sit at my measureless turning,
They come and they go,—
The little ones down on the rocks,—and the sunlight is burning
On vineyards below;
All day and all day, as I sit at my stone and am ceaselessly grinding,
The almond boughs blow.
When she was here—O my first-born!—here, grinding and singing,
...
The past walks here, noiseless, unasked, alone;
Knockers are silent, and beside each stone
Grass peers, unharmed by lagging steps and slow
That with the dark and dawn pass to and fro.
The Past walks here, unseen forevermore,
Save by some heart who, in her half-closed door,
Looks forth and hears the great pulse beat afar,—
The hum and...
All in the leafy darkness, when sleep had passed me by,
I knew the surging of the sea—
Though never wave were nigh.
All in the leafy darkness, unbroken by a star,
There came the clamorous call of day,
While yet the day was far.
All in the leafy darkness, woven with hushes deep,
I heard the vulture wings of Fear...
Out of the heart there flew a little singing bird,
Past the dawn and the dew, where leaves of morning stirred,
And the heart, which followed on, said: “Though the bird be flown
Which sang in the dew and the dawn, the song is still my own.”
Over the foot-worn track, over the rock and thorn,
The tired heart looked back to the olive leaves of morn,...
