SONG I A SPIRIT haunts the year's last hours For at eventide, listening earnestly, Earthward he boweth the heavy stalks Of the mouldering flowers: Heavily hangs the broad sunflower Over its grave i' the earth so chilly; Heavily hangs the tiger-lily. II The air is damp, and hush'd, and close, My very heart faints and my whole soul grieves Of the fading edges of box beneath, And the year's last rose. Heavily hangs the broad sunflower A CHARACTER WITH a half-glance upon the sky He spake of beauty: that the dull Life in dead stones, or spirit in air; He smooth'd his chin and sleek'd his hair, And said the earth was beautiful. He spake of virtue: not the gods More purely, when they wish to charm And with a sweeping of the arm, Most delicately hour by hour With lips depress'd as he were meek, And other than his form of creed, THE POET THE poet in a golden clime was born, Dower'd with the hate of hate, the scorn of scorn, He saw thro' life and death, thro' good and ill, The marvel of the everlasting will, Before him lay: with echoing feet he threaded The secretest walks of fame : The viewless arrows of his thoughts were headed And wing'd with flame, Like Indian reeds blown from his silver tongue, From Calpe unto Caucasus they sung, And vagrant melodies the winds which bore Then, like the arrow-seeds of the field flower, Cleaving, took root, and springing forth anew Like to the mother plant in semblance, grew And bravely furnish'd all abroad to fling To throng with stately blooms the breathing spring Of Hope and Youth. So many minds did gird their orbs with beams, Heaven flow'd upon the soul in many dreams Thus truth was multiplied on truth, the world Like one great garden show'd, And thro' the wreaths of floating dark upcurl'd, Rare sunrise flow'd. And Freedom rear'd in that august sunrise When rites and forms before his burning eyes There was no blood upon her maiden robes But round about the circles of the globes And in her raiment's hem was traced in flame All evil dreams of power-a sacred name. Her words did gather thunder as they ran, So was their meaning to her words. No sword THE POET'S MIND I VEX not thou the poet's mind Vex not thou the poet's mind; |