The bearded grass waves in the summer breeze;
The sunlight sleeps along the distant hills;
Faint is the music of the murmuring rills,
And faint the drowsy piping of the bees.
The languid leaves scarce stir upon the trees,
And scarce is heard the clangor of the mills
In the far distance, and the high, sharp trills
Of the cicada die upon...
-
-
Yet, o my friend—pale conjurer, I call
Thee friend—bring, bring the dead not back again,
Since for the tears, the darkness and the pain
Of unrequited friendship—for the gall
That hatred mingles with fond love—for all
Life’s endless turmoil, bitterness and bane,
Thou hast given dreamless rest. Still let the rain,
And sunshine, and the dews... -
O dawn upon me slowly, Paradise!
Come not too suddenly,
Lest my just-opened, unaccustomed eyes
Smitten with blindness be.To those who from Time’s penury and woe
Rise to thy heights afar,
Down which the floods of glory fall and flow,
Too great thy splendors are.So grow upon me slowly; sweetly break
Across... -
Home from the observatory,
Now I take her on my knee,
And I tell her all the glory
That the lenses showed to me.
Pleased, she listens to my story,
Earnest look then turneth sheWhere the stars are softly blinking
In the blue of summer skies.
Ah! she sees beyond my thinking,
Even into Paradise!
Very... -
Child, weary of thy baubles of to-day—
Child with the golden or the silver hair—
Say, how wouldst thou have built creation’s stair,
Hadst thou been free to have thy puny way?
Could thy intelligence have shot the ray
That lit the universe of upper air?
Wouldst thou have bid the surging stars to dare
Their glorious flight and never stop nor... -
I beg the pardon of these flowers
For bringing them to one whose hair
Alone doth shame, beyond compare,
The sweetest blooms of richest bowers.I beg the pardon of this maid
For offering them with hand less pure,
A heart less perfect, needing cure
By Love’s own music, softly played. -
Wind of the North,
Wind of the Norland snows,
Wind of the winnowed skies, and sharp, clear stars,—
Blow cold and keen across the naked hills,
And crisp the lowland pools with crystal films,
And blur the casement squares with glittering ice,
But go not near my love.Wind of the West,
Wind of the few, far clouds,
Wind of... -
To stand within a gently gliding boat,
Urged by a noiseless paddle at the stern,
Whipping the crystal mirror of the fern
In fairy bays where water-lilies float;
To hear your reel’s whirr echoed by the throat
Of a wild mocking-bird, or round some turn
To chance upon a wood-duck’s brood that churn
Swift passage toward their mother’s warning... -
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... -
Framed in the cavernous fire-place sits a boy,
Watching the embers from his grandsire’s knee:
One sees red castles rise, and laughs with joy;
The other marks them crumble, silently.