One day between the Lip and the Heart
A wordless strife arose,
Which was expertest in the art
His purpose to disclose.
The Lip called forth the vassal Tongue,
And made him vouch—a lie!
The slave his servile anthem sung,
And braved the listening sky.
The Heart to speak in vain essayed,
Nor could his purpose...
Thou art lost to me forever!—I have lost thee, Isadore!
Thy head will never rest upon my loyal bosom more;
Thy tender eyes will never more look fondly into mine,
Nor thine arms around me lovingly and trustingly entwine,—
Thou art lost to me forever, Isadore!
Thou art dead and gone, dear loving wife, thy heart is still and cold,
And mine,...
The cold blast at the casement beats;
The window-panes are white;
The snow whirls through the empty streets;
It is a dreary night!
Sit down, old friend, the wine-cups wait;
Fill to o’erflowing, fill!
Though winter howleth at the gate,
In our hearts ’t is summer still!
For we full many summer joys
And greenwood...
What can console for a dead world?
We tread on dust which once was life;
To nothingness all things are hurled:
What meaning in a hopeless strife?
Time’s awful storm
Breaks but the form.
Whatever comes, whatever goes,
Still throbs the heart whereby we live;
The primal joys still lighten woes,
And time...
Many things thou hast given me, dear heart;
But one thing thou hast taken: that high dream
Of heaven as of a country that should seem
Beyond all glory that divinest art
Has pictured:—with this I have had to part
Since knowing thee;—how long, love, will the gleam
Of each day’s sunlight on my pathway stream,
Richer than what seemed richest...
who are ye, spirits, that stand
In the outer gloom,
Each with a blazing heart in hand,
Which lighteth the dark beyond the tomb?
“Oh, we be souls that loved
Too well, too well!
Yet, for that love, though sore reproved,
(Oh, sore reproved!) have we ’scaped hell.
“’Scaped hell, but gained not heaven....
Who drives the horses of the sun
Shall lord it but a day;
Better the lowly deed were done,
And kept the humble way.
The rust will find the sword of fame,
The dust will hide the crown;
Ay, none shall nail so high his name
Time will not tear it down.
The happiest heart that ever beat
Was in some quiet breast
That...
Lean close and set thine ear against the bark;
Then tell me what faint, murmurous sounds are heard:
Hath not the oak stored up the song of bird,
Whisper of wind and rain-lisp? Ay, and hark!
The shadowy elves that fret the summer dark,
With clash of horny winglets swiftly whirred,
Hear’st thou not them, with myriad noises, blurred,
Yet...
The gray waves rock against the gray skyline,
And break complaining on the long gray sand,
Here where I sit, who cannot understand
Their voice of pain, nor this dumb pain of mine;
For I, who thought to fare till my days end,
Armed sorrow-proof in sorrow, having known
How hearts bleed slow when brave lips make no moan,
How Life...
The Heart soars up like a bird
From a nest of care;
Up, up to a larger sky,
To a softer air.
No eye can measure its flight
And no hand can tame;
It mounts in beauty and light,
In music and flame.
Of all the changes of Time
There is none like this;
The heart soars up like a bird
At the stroke of...
