Lighter than dandelion down,
Or feathers from the white moth’s wing,
Out of the gates of bramble-town
The silkweed goes a-gypsying.
Too fair to fly in autumn’s rout,
All winter in the sheath it lay;
But now, when spring is pushing out,
The zephyr calls, “Away! away!”
Through mullein, bramble, brake, and fern,...
As one advances up the slow ascent
Along the pathway in the woods, the trees
Change aspect, nor alone in this, but change
In stature and in power till Solitude
Seems cut out of the ancient forest. Here
Was Solitude! where man had lived of old,
Loved, serving God, and built himself a home.
Man smooths an acre on the rolling earth,
...
I Dare not think that thou art by, to stand
And face omnipotence so near at hand!
When I consider thee, how must I shrink;
How must I say, I do not understand,
I dare not think!
I cannot stand before the thought of thee,
Infinite Fulness of Eternity!
So close that all the outlines of the land
Are lost,—in the inflowing...
His body lies upon the shore,
Afar from his beloved land,
And over him shine tropic suns;
No more he thrills at sound of guns,
No longer, cutlass in his hand,
Cries, “Follow me!” and goes before.
Above him droop the languid trees,
Athirst and fainting with the noon;
Around him drowsy lizards crawl.
...
Into the caverns of the sea
Shall all at last descend,
Who now press forward gallantly
Unrecking of the end.
And no man knoweth what is there,
Nor when his time shall come
To yield his soul and take his share
With all those gone and dumb.
It may be we shall find our kin
Waiting to grasp our hands,
And...
Robert Gould SHAW
THE WARS we wage
Are noble, and our battles still are won
By justice for us, ere we lift the gage.
We have not sold our loftiest heritage.
The proud republic hath not stooped to cheat
And scramble in the market place of war;
Her forehead weareth yet its solemn star.
Here is her witness: this, her perfect son,...
Such hints as untaught Nature yields!
The calm disorder of the sea,
The straggling splendor of the fields,
The wind’s gay incivility.
O workman with your conscious plan,
Compass and square are little worth;
Copy (nay, only poets can)
The artless masonry of earth.
Go watch the windy spring’s carouse,
And mark...
Rough pasture where the blackberries grow!—
It bears upon its churlish face
No sign of beauty, art, or grace;
Not here the silvery coverts glow
That April and the angler know.
There sleeps no brooklet in this wild,
Smooth-resting on its mosses sleek,
Like loving lips upon a cheek
Soft as the face of maid or child,—...
Go to the western gate, Luke Havergal,—
There where the vines cling crimson on the wall,—
And in the twilight wait for what will come.
The wind will moan, the leaves will whisper some,—
Whisper of her, and strike you as they fall;
But go, and if you trust her she will call.
Go to the western gate, Luke Havergal—
Luke Havergal.
...
As we the withered ferns
By the roadway lying,
Time, the jester, spurns
All our prayers and prying—
All our tears and sighing,
Sorrow, change, and woe—
All our where-and-whying
For friends that come and go.
Life awakes and burns.
Age and death defying,
Till at last it learns
All but...
