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And beauty and length of days,
Till day like night were shady And night, and sleep in the night. 40 And night were bright like day; His speech is a burning fire;
If you were April's lady, With his lips he travaileth;
And I were lord in May. In his heart is a blind desire,
In his eyes foreknowledge of death; If you were queen of pleasure, He weaves, and is clothed with de And I were king of pain, rision;
We'd hunt down love together, Sows, and he shall not reap;
Pluck out his flying-feather, His life is a watch or a vision
And teach his feet a measure,
45 Between a sleep and a sleep.
And find his mouth a rein;
And I were king of pain.
TO WALT WHITMAN IN AMERICA
Send but a song oversea for us, In sad or singing weather,
Heart of their hearts who are free, Blown fields or flowerful closes,
Heart of their singer, to be for us Green pleasure or gray grief;
More than our singing can be;
Ours, in the tempest at error,
With no light but the twilight of terror; If I were what the words are,
Send us a song oversea!
Sweet-smelling of pine-leaves and grasses,
And blown as a tree through and through Delight our lips would mingle,
With the winds of the keen mountainWith kisses glad as birds are That get sweet rain at noon;
And tender as sun-smitten dew; If I were what the words are,
Sharp-tongued as the winter that shakes And love were like the tune.
The wastes of your limitless lakes,
Wide-eyed as the sea-line's blue.
O strong-winged soul with prophetic 15 Ere March made sweet the weather 20
Lips hot with the bloodbeats of song, With daffodil and starling
· With tremor of heartstrings magnetic And hours of fruitful breath;
With thoughts as thunders in throng, If you were life, my darling,
With consonant ardors of chords
That pierce men's souls as with swords 20
And hale them hearing along,
Make us too music, to be with us
As a word from a world's heart warm, With loving looks and treasons
To sail the dark as a sea with us, And tears of night and morrow
Full-sailed, outsinging the storm, 25 And laughs of maid and boy; - 30
A song to put fire in our ears If you were thrall to sorrow,
Whose burning shall burn up tears And I were page to joy.
Whose sign bid battle reform; If you were April's lady,
A note in the ranks of a clarion, And I were lord in May,
A word in the wind of cheer, We'd throw with leaves for hours - 35 | To consume as with lightning the carrion And draw for days with flowers, I That makes time foul for us here;
30 - 40 |
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, 80
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,
White myriads for death to bestride In the godhead of man revealed.
Round your people and over them
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, 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,
Land, songs praising his name? 105
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; 10
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. 701 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,
So shall the soul seen be the self-same And its seed in the stripe as the kiss, 125 one 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 sense 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,
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. I under,
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,
150 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
far, 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? | quire
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)
25 LOVE IN THE VALLEY
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
Beautiful she looks, like a tall gardenpossessed. Sweeter, for she is what my heart first
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, 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.