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The sunshine bursting after rain—
The gladness insecure

That makes us fain strong hearts to gain,
To do and to endure.

High natures must be thunder-scarred
With many a searing wrong;
From mother Sorrow's breasts the bard
Sucks gifts of deepest song,
Nor all unmarred with struggles hard
Wax the Soul's sinews strong.

Dear Patience, too, is born of woe,
Patience that opes the gate
Wherethrough the soul of man must go
Up to each nobler state,
Whose voice's flow so meek and low
Smooths the bent brows of Fate.

Though Fame be slow, yet Death is swift,
And, o'er the spirit's eyes,

Life after life doth change and shift
With larger destinies :

As on we drift, some wider rift
Shows us serener skies.

And though naught falleth to us here.
But gains the world counts loss,
Though all we hope of wisdom clear
When climbed to seems but dross,
Yet all, though ne'er Christ's faith they wear,
At least may share his cross.


FAREWELL! as the bee round the blossom
Doth murmur drowsily,

So murmureth round my bosom
The memory of thee;

Lingering, it seems to go,
When the wind more full doth flow,
Waving the flower to and fro,
But still returneth, Marian!

My hope no longer burneth,
Which did so fiercely burn,
My joy to sorrow turneth,
Although loath, loath to turn —
I would forget-

And yet - and yet

My heart to thee still yearneth, Marian!

Fair as a single star thou shinest,

And white as lilies are

The slender hands wherewith thou twinest

Thy heavy auburn hair;

Thou art to me

A memory

Of all that is divinest:
Thou art so fair and tall,
Thy looks so queenly are,
Thy very shadow on the wall,
Thy step upon the stair,
The thought that thou art nigh,
The chance look of thine eye
Are more to me than all, Marian,
And will be till I die!

As the last quiver of a bell
Doth fade into the air,
With a subsiding swell
That dies we know not where,
So my hope melted and was gone:
I raised mine eyes to bless the star
That shared its light with me so far
Below its silver throne,

And gloom and chilling vacancy
Were all was left to me,

In the dark, bleak night I was alone!
Alone in the blessed Earth, Marian,
For what were all to me -

Its love, and light, and mirth, Marian,
If I were not with thee?

My heart will not forget thee

More than the moaning brine
Forgets the moon when she is set;
The gush when first I met thee

That thrilled my brain like wine,
Doth thrill as madly yet;
My heart cannot forget thee,
Though it may droop and pine,
Too deeply it had set thee
In every love of mine;
No new moon ever cometh,
No flower ever bloometh,
No twilight ever gloometh
But I'm more only thine.
Oh look not on me, Marian,
Thine eyes are wild and deep,
And they have won me, Marian,
From peacefulness and sleep;
The sunlight doth not sun me,
The meek moonshine doth shun me,
All sweetest voices stun me

There is no rest

Within my breast

And I can only weep, Marian!

As a landbird far at sea
Doth wander through the sleet
And drooping downward wearily
Finds no rest for her feet,
So wandereth my memory
O'er the years when we did meet:
I used to say that everything
Partook a share of thee,

That not a little bird could sing,
Or green
leaf flutter on a tree,
That nothing could be beautiful
Save part of thee were there,
That from thy soul so clear and full
All bright and blessèd things did cull
The charm to make them fair;

And now I know

That it was so,

Thy spirit through the earth doth flow And face me wheresoe'er I go –

What right hath perfectness to give
Such weary weight of woe

Unto the soul which cannot live

On anything more low?
Oh leave me, leave me, Marian,
There's no fair thing I see
But doth deceive me, Marian,
Into sad dreams of thee!

A cold snake gnaws my heart
And crushes round my brain,
And I should glory but to part
So bitterly again,

Feeling the slow tears start
And fall in fiery rain:
There's a wide ring round the moon,
The ghost-like clouds glide by,
And I hear the sad winds croon
A dirge to the lowering sky;
There's nothing soft or mild
In the pale moon's sickly light,
But all looks strange and wild
Through the dim, foreboding night:
I think thou must be dead
In some dark and lonely place,
With candles at thy head,
And a pall above thee spread
To hide thy dead, cold face;
But I can see thee underneath
So pale, and still, and fair,
Thine eyes closed smoothly and a wreath
Of flowers in thy hair;

I never saw thy face so clear
When thou wast with the living,

As now beneath the pall, so drear,
And stiff, and unforgiving;

I cannot flee thee, Marian,

I cannot turn away,
Mine eyes must see thee, Marian,
Through salt tears night and day.


POET! lonely is thy bed,
And the turf is overhead-

Cold earth is thy cover;
But thy heart hath found release,
And it slumbers full of peace
'Neath the rustle of green trees
And the warm hum of the bees,

Mid the drowsy clover; Through thy chamber, still as death, A smooth gurgle wandereth, As the blue stream murmureth

To the blue sky over.

Three paces from the silver strand, Gently in the fine, white sand, With a lily in thy hand,

Pale as snow, they laid thee;
In no coarse earth wast thou hid,
And no gloomy coffin-lid

Darkly overweighed thee.
Silently as snow-flakes drift,
The smooth sand did sift and sift
O'er the bed they made thee;
All sweet birds did come and sing
At thy sunny burying -

Choristers unbidden,

And, beloved of sun and dew,
Meek forget-me-nots upgrew
Where thine eyes so large and blue
'Neath the turf were hidden.

Where thy stainless clay doth lie,
Blue and open is the sky,
And the white clouds wander by,
Dreams of summer silently
Darkening the river;

Thou hearest the clear water run;
And the ripples every one,
Scattering the golden sun,

Through thy silence quiver;
Vines trail down upon the stream,
Into its smooth and glassy dream

A green stillness spreading, And the shiner, perch, and bream Through the shadowed waters gleam 'Gainst the current heading.

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