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Up from the stream with sluggish flap
Struggles the gull and floats away; Nearer and nearer rolls the thunder-clap,
We shall not see the sun go down to-day : Now leaps the wind on the sleepy marsh,
And tramples the grass with terrified feet,
Look! look ! that livid flash !
Fell, splintering with a ruinous crash,
And now a solid gray wall of rain
For a breath's space I see the blue wood again, An ere the next heart-beat, the wind-hurled pile,
That seemed but now a league aloof,
Bursts crackling o'er the sun-parched roof; Against the windows the storm comes dashing, Through tattered foliage the hail tears crashing,
The blue lightning flashes,
The rapid hail clashes,
And, in one baffled roar,
A rock-bristled shore.
And crashing and crumbling,
Hush! Still as death,
The tempest holds his breath
As from a sudden will;
All is so bodingly still;
Again, now, now, again
The crinkled lightning
And loud and long
His battle-song, -
One wildering crash,
As if the cloud, let go,
Leapt bodily below
And then a total lull.
Gone, gone, so soon!
No more I see his streaming hair,
The pale and quiet moon
LOVE. TRUE LOVE is but a humble, low-born thing, And hath its food served up in earthenware; It is a thing to walk with, hand in hand, Through the every-dayness of this work-day world, Baring its tender feet to every roughness, Yet letting not one heart-beat go astray From Beauty's law of plainness and contentA simple, fireside thing, whose quiet smile Can waim earth's poorest hovel to a home; Which, when our autumn cometh, as it must, And life in the chill wind shivers bare and leafless, Shall still be blest with Indian-summer uth In bleak November, and, with thankful heart, Smile on its ample stores of garnered fruit, As full of sunshine to our aged eyes As when it nursed the blossoms of our spring. Such is true Love, which steals into the heart With feet as silent as the lightsome dawn That kisses smooth the rough brows of the dark, And hath its will through blissful gentleness, – Not like a rocket, which, with sarage glare, Whirrs suddenly up, then bursts, and leaves the night Painfully quivering on the dazed eyes ; A love that gives and takes, that seeth faults, Not with flaw-seeking eyes like needle points, But loving-kindly ever looks them down With the o'ercoming faith of meek forgiveness; A love that shall be new and fresh each hour, As is the golden mystery of sunset,
Or the sweet coming of the evening star,
TO PERDITA, SINGING. Thy voice is like a fountain,
Leaping up in clear moonshine ; Silver, silver, ever mounting,
Thou hast had in bygone years,
Clear and low;
In thy voice awaken,
From their teaching it hath taken:
It hath caught a touch of sadness,
Yet it is not sad;
Yet it is not glad;
Where to-day's accustomed blue
With starry feelings quivered throngh.
Leaping up in sunshine bright,
Shooting in melodious light.
O, thus for ever! The green, bright grass of childhood bring to me, Flowing like an emerald river,
And the bright blue skies above ! 0, sing them back, as fresh as ever,
Into the bosom of my love,-
Of that never cold time,
Through and through the old time!
Peace sits within thine eyes,
While, through thy lips and face, arise
She sits and sings,
And white arms crost,
They are not lost:
O’er thine opening spirit shed,
That filled thy soul with joyous dread,
Flowing to thee, thou knewest not whence,
Which thou givest forth to-day,
Whose music stilled thy boyish play.'
Twinkling up in sharp starlight,
And, sudden-slow, its solemn power
Into a waving silver flower.
Before the moon was made,
Of its own strength afraid,
Unrestful and unstaid.
About its earthly prison,
For yet no moon had risen:
Of utterless anguish speaking,
And lived but in an aimless seeking.
Of unrest to o'erloading,
Whispered a dim foreboding,