Here from the brow of the hill I look,
Through a lattice of boughs and leaves,
On the old gray mill with its gambrel roof,
And the moss on its rotting eaves.
I hear the clatter that jars its walls,
And the rushing water’s sound,
And I see the black floats rise and fall
As the wheel goes slowly round.
I rode there...
The divan
a LITTLE maid of Astrakan,
An idol on a silk divan;
She sits so still, and never speaks,
She holds a cup of mine;
’T is full of wine, and on her cheeks
Are stains and smears of wine.
Thou little girl of Astrakan,
I join thee on the silk divan:
There is no need to seek the land,
The rich bazaars...
I
not from the whole wide world I chose thee,
Sweetheart, light of the land and the sea!
The wide, wide world could not inclose thee,
For thou art the whole wide world to me.
II
Years have flown since I knew thee first,
And I know thee as water is known of thirst;
Yet I knew thee of old at the first sweet sight,
...
I
the birds have hid, the winds are low,
The brake is awake, the grass aglow:
The bat is the rover,
No bee on the clover,
The day is over,
And evening come.
The heavy beetle spreads her wings,
The toad has the road, the cricket sings:
The bat is the rover,
No bee on the clover,
The day is over,
And...
The world IS MINE
FOR me the jasmine buds unfold
And silver daisies star the lea,
The crocus hoards the sunset gold,
And the wild rose breathes for me.
I feel the sap through the bough returning,
I share the skylark’s transport fine,
I know the fountain’s way ward yearning;
I love, and the world is mine!...
Fear
there is a sound I would not hear,
Although it music’s self might be;
Lest in my breast a crystal sphere
Might burst, might break for melody.
There is a face I would not see
Tho’ like the springtime it were fair;
Lest love that was a barren tree
Should burst in bloom—should blossoms bear.
SWEETS THAT DIE...
The sky-lark’s SONG
HEY, laddie, hark, to the merry, merry lark;
How high he singeth clear:
Oh, a morn in spring is the sweetest thing
That cometh in all the year!
Oh, a morn in spring is the sweetest thing
That cometh in all the year!
Ring, ting! it is the merry spring-time;
How full of heart a body feels!...
From “The Tempest,” Act I. Sc. 2.
I.
COME unto these yellow sands,
And then take hands;
Court’sied when you have, and kissed.
(The wild waves whist!)
Foot it featly here and there;
And, sweet sprites, the burthen bear.
Hark, hark!
Burthen [dispersedly]—Bow-wow.
The watch-dogs bark—
Burthen...
Sing thou my songs for me when I am dead!
Soul of my soul, some day thou wilt awake
To see the morning on the hilltops break,
And the far summits flame with rosy red—
But I shall wake not, though above my head
Armies should thunder; nor for Love’s sweet sake,
Though he the tenderest pilgrimage should make
Where I am lying...
When falls the soldier brave
Dead—at the feet of wrong,—
The poet sings, and guards his grave
With sentinels of song.
Songs, march! he gives command,
Keep faithful watch and true;
The living and dead of the Conquered Land
Have now no guards save you.
Grave Ballads! mark ye well!
Thrice holy is your trust!...
