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In the air that our dead things infest It sees not what season shall bring to it A blast of the breath of the west,

Sweet fruit of its bitter desire; Till east way as west way is clear. 35 Few voices it hears yet sing to it,

Few pulses of hearts reaspire; Out of the sun beyond sunset,

Foresees not time, nor forehears From the evening whence morning shall The noises of imminent years, be,

Earthquake, and thunder, and fire: 84 With the rollers in measureless onset,

With the van of the storming sea, When crowned and weaponed and curbWith the world-wide wind, with the less breath

It shall walk without helm or shield That breaks ships driven upon death, The bare burnt furrows and herbless With the passion of all things free,

Of war's last flame-stricken field,

Till godlike, equal with time, With the sea-steeds footless and frantic, It stand in the sun sublime,

White myriads for death to bestride I In the godhead of man revealed. In the charge of the ruining Atlantic, 45

Where deaths by regiments ride, Round your people and over them With clouds and clamors of waters,

Light like raiment is drawn, With a long note shriller than slaughter's | Close as a garment to cover them On the furrowless fields world-wide, Wrought not of mail nor of lawn; 95

Here, with hope hardly to wear, With terror, with ardor and wonder, 50 Naked nations and bare

With the soul of the season that wakes Swim, sink, strike out for the dawn. When the weight of a whole year's thunder

In the tidestream of autumn breaks, Chains are here, and a prison, Let the flight of the wide-winged word Kings, and subjects, and shame; 100 Come over, come in and be heard,

| If the God upon you be arisen, Take form and fire for our sakes.

How should our songs be the same?

How, in confusion of change,
For a continent bloodless with travail How shall we sing, in a strange
Here toils and brawls as it can,

Land, songs praising his name? 105 And the web of it who shall unravel

Of all that peer on the plan; 60 God is buried and dead to us, Would fain grow men, but they grow Even the spirit of earth, not,

Freedom; so have they said to us And fain be free, but they know not

Some with mocking and mirth, One name for freedom and man. Some with heartbreak and tears; 110

And a God without eyes, without ears, One name, not twain, for division;

Who shall sing of him, dead in the One thing, not twain, from the birth; 65 I birth? Spirit and substance and vision,

Worth more than worship is worth; The earth-god Freedom, the lonely Unbeheld, unadored, undivined,

Face lightening, the footprint unshod, The cause, the center, the mind,

Not as one man crucified only, 115 The secret and sense of the earth.

Nor scourged with but one life's rod;

The soul that is substance of nations, Here as a weakling in irons,

Reincarnate with fresh generations; Here as a weanling in bands,

The great god Man, which is God. As a prey that the stake-net environs,

Our life that we looked for stands; But in weariest of years and obscurest 120 And the man-child naked and dear, 75 Doth it live not at heart of all things, Democracy, turns on us here

The one God and one spirit, a purest Eyes trembling with tremulous hands. Life, fed from unstanchable springs?

Within love, within hatred it is,
And its seed in the stripe as the kiss, 125
And in slaves is the germ, and in


Freedom we call it, for holier

Name of the soul's there is none;
Surelier it labors, if slowlier,

Than the meters of star or of sun; 130
Slowlier than life into breath,
Surelier than time into death,

It moves till its labor be done.

So shall the soul seen be the self-same

one That looked and spake with even such

lips and eyes As love shall doubt not then to recognize, And all bright thoughts and smiles of all time past

II Revive, transfigured, but in spirit and

sense None other than we knew, for evidence That love's last mortal word was not his


Till the motion be done and the measure

Circling through season and clime, 135 ON THE DEATHS OF THOMAS Slumber and sorrow and pleasure,

CARLYLE AND GEORGE ELIOT Vision of virtue and crime; Till consummate with conquering eyes, Two souls diverse out of our human sight A soul disembodied, it rise

Pass, followed one with love and each with From the body transfigured of time. 140 wonder:

The stormy sophist with his mouth of Till it rise and remain and take station thunder, With the stars of the worlds that re Clothed with loud words and mantled in joice;

the might Till the voice of its heart's exultation Of darkness and magnificence of night; 5 Be as theirs an invariable voice;

And one whose eye could smite the night By no discord of evil estranged, 145 in sunder, By no pause, by no breach in it changed, Searching if light or no light were thereBy no clash in the chord of its choice.


And found in love of loving-kindness light. It is one with the world's generations, Duty divine and Thought with eyes of

With the spirit, the star, and the sod; With the kingless and king-stricken na Still following Righteousness with deep tions,


desire With the cross, and the chain, and the Shone sole and stern before her and above, rod;

Sure stars and sole to steer by; but more The most high, the most secret, most sweet lonely,

Shone lower the loveliest lamp for earthly The earth-soul Freedom, that only

feet,Lives, and that only is God.

The light of little children, and their love.





If light of life outlive the set of sun Crowned, girdled, garbed, and shod with That men call death and end of all things, light and fire, then

Son first-born of the morning, sovereign How should not that which life held best star! for men

Soul nearest ours of all, that wert most And proved most precious, though it seem undone

Most far off in the abysm of time, thy By force of death and woful victory won, 5 lyre Be first and surest of revival, when Hung highest above the dawn-enkindled Death shall bow down to life arisen again? |




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Where all ye sang together, all that are, Lies my young love sleeping in the And all the starry songs behind thy car

shade. Rang sequence, all our souls acclaim thee Had I the heart to slide an arm beneath sire.

her, “If all the pens that ever poets held | Press her parting lips as her waist I Had fed the feeling of their masters' gather slow, thoughts,"

Waking in amazement she could not but And as with rush of hurtling chariots

embrace me: The flight of all their spirits were impelled Then would she hold me and never let Toward one great end, thy glory-nay, not me go?

then, Not yet might'st thou be praised enough of Shy as the squirrel and wayward as the men.


Swift as the swallow along the river's BEN JONSON


Circleting the surface to meet his mirrored Broad-based, broad-fronted, bounteous, winglets, multiform,

Fleeter she seems in her stay than in her With many a valley impleached with ivy flight. and vine,

Shy as the squirrel that leaps among the Wherein the springs of all the streams pine-tops, run wine,

Wayward as the swallow overhead at set And many a crag full-faced against the of sun, storm,

She whom I love is hard to catch and The mountain where thy Muse's feet conquer;

15 made warm

Hard, but oh, the glory of the winning Those lawns that revelled with her dance were she won!

divine Shines yet with fire as it was wont to When her mother tends her before the shine

laughing mirror, From tossing torches round the dance Tying up her laces, looping up her hair, a-swarm.

Often she thinks, were this wild thing Nor less, high-stationed on the gray grave wedded, heights,

More love should I have, and much less High-thoughted seers with heaven's heart care. kindling lights

When her mother tends her before the Hold converse: and the herd of meaner lighted mirror, things

Loosening her laces, combing down her Knows or by fiery scourge or fiery shaft

curls, When wrath on thy broad brows has risen, Often she thinks, were this wild thing and laughed

wedded, Darkening thy soul with shadow of thun I should miss but one for many boys and derous wings.



Heartless she is as the shadow in the GEORGE MEREDITH (1828–1909)



Flying to the hills on a blue and breezy

noon. Under yonder beech-tree single on the No, she is athirst and drinking up her greensward,

wonder; Couched with her arms behind her Eafth to her is young as the slip of the golden head,

new moon. Knees and tresses folded to slip and Deals she an unkindness, 'tis but her rapid ripple idly,




Even as in a dance; and her smile can Sunrays, leaning on our southern hills and heal no less:


lighting Like the swinging May-cloud that pelts Wild cloud-mountains that drag the the flowers with hailstones

hills along, Off a sunny border, she was made to Oft ends the day of your shifting brilliant bruise and bless.


Chill as a dull face frowning on a song. 60 Lovely are the curves of the white owl | Ay, but shows the South-west a ripplesweeping

feathered bosom Wavy in the dusk lit by one large star.

Blown to silver while the clouds are Lone on the fir-branch, his rattle-note un

shaken and ascend, varied,

Scaling the mid-heavens as they stream, Brooding o'er the gloom, spins the brown

there comes a sunset evejar.

Rich, deep like love in beauty without Darker grows the valley, more and more

forgetting: So were it with me if forgetting could be When at dawn she sighs, and like an inwilled.

fant to the window Tell the grassy hollow that holds the bub

Turns grave eyes craving light, released bling well-spring,

from dreams, Tell it to forget the source that keeps it

Beautiful she looks, like a white waterfilled.

40 lily, Stepping down the hill with her fair com

Bursting out of bud in havens of the

streams. panions, Arm in arm, all against the raying West,

When from bed she rises clothed from neck

to ankle Boldly she sings, to the merry tune she

In her long nightgown sweet as boughs marches, Brave is her shape, and sweeter un

of May,

Beautiful she looks, like a tall gardenpossessed. Sweeter, for she is what my heart first

lily, awaking

Pure from the night, and splendid for

45 Whispered the world was; morning light

the day. is she. Love that so desires would fain keep her

| Mother of the dews, dark eye-lashed twi

Mo changeless;

light, Fain would fing the net, and fain have

fain have Low-lidded twilight, o'er the valley's her free.


Rounding on thy breast sings the dewHappy, happy time, when the white star delighted skylark, hovers

Clear as though the dew-drops had their · Low over dim fields fresh with bloomy voice in him. dew,


Hidden where the rose-flush drinks the Near the face of dawn, that draws athwart rayless planet, the darkness,

Fountain-full he pours the spraying Threading it with color, like yewberries fountain-showers. the yew.

Let me hear her laughter, I would have her Thicker crowd the shades as the grave ever East deepens

Cool as dew in twilight, the lark above Glowing, and with crimson a long cloud the flowers.

swells. Maiden still the morn is; and strange she All the girls are out with their baskets for is, and secret;

the primrose; Strange her eyes; her cheeks are cold as Up lanes, woods through, they troop in cold sea-shells.

joyful bands.






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