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Sweet-smelling of pine-leaves and grasses,

And blown as a tree through and through With the winds of the keen mountain

passes, And tender as sun-smitten dew; Sharp-tongued as the winter that shakes The wastes of your limitless lakes,

Wide-eyed as the sea-line's blue.


O strong-winged soul with prophetic 15

Lips hot with the bloodbeats of song, With tremor of heartstrings magnetic

With thoughts as thunders in throng, With consonant ardors of chords That pierce men's souls as with swords 20

And hale them hearing along,

If you were life, my darling,

And I your love were death, We'd shine and snow together Ere March made sweet the weather 20 With daffodil and starling

And hours of fruitful breath; If you were life, my darling,

And I your love were death. If you were thrall to sorrow,

25 And I were page to joy, We'd play for lives and seasons With loving looks and treasons And tears of night and morrow

And laughs of maid and boy; 30 you were thrall to sorrow,

And I were page to joy.
If you were April's lady,

And I were lord in May,
We'd throw with leaves for hours

35 And draw for days with flowers,

Make us too music, to be with us

As a word from a world's heart warm, To sail the dark as a sea with us,

Full-sailed, outsinging the storm, 25 A song to put fire in our ears Whose burning shall burn up tears

Whose sign bid battle reform;


A note in the ranks of a clarion,
A word in the wind of cheer,

30 To consume as with lightning the carrion

That makes time foul for us here;



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 ilame-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 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;

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;
Come over, come in and be heard,

55 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;

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 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.

70 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?

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Within love, within hatred it is,

So shall the soul seen be the self-same And its seed in the stripe as the kiss, 125 And in slaves is the germ, and in That looked and spake with even such kings.

lips and eyes

As love shall doubt not then to recognize, Freedom we call it, for holier

And all bright thoughts and smiles of all Name of the soul's there is none;

time past Surelier it labors, if slowlier,

Revive, transfigured, but in spirit and Than the meters of star or of sun; 130 Slowlier than life into breath,

None other than we knew, for evidence Surelier than time into death,

That love's last mortal word was not his It moves till its labor be done.




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; fire 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
That men call death and end of all things,

How should not that which life held best

for men
And proved most precious, though it

seem undone
By force of death and woful victory won, 5
Be first and surest of revival, when
Death shall bow down to life arisen again?

Crowned, girdled, garbed, and shod with

light and fire, Son first-born of the morning, sovereign

star! Soul nearest ours of all, that wert most

far, Most far off in the abysm of time, thy

lyre Hung highest above the dawn-enkindled quire

5 IO


of sun,


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.


5 “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 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 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, Knees and tresses folded to slip and Deals she an unkindness, 'tis but her rapid ripple idly,





new moon.


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,

35 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 end.

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,

When from bed she rises clothed from neck Arm in arm, all against the raying West,

to ankle Boldly she sings, to the merry tune she marches,

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

of May, possessed.

Beautiful she looks, like a tall gardenSweeter, 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

light, changeless; Fain would fling the net, and 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,

75 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.

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

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

80 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.


the yew.


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