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III. In the Doorway
And looks sea-ward:
To the leeward,
Her five fingers,
Where there lingers
stake! My heart shrivels up and my spirit shrinks curled. Yet here are we two; we have love, house enough,
With the field there,
Though it yield there,
To the spirit,
IV. Along the Beach
What has come of it all along?
I took you-how could I otherwise ?
For a world to me, and more;
In what was mere earth before.
Now do I mis-state, mistake?
Seal my sense up for your sake?
You were just weak earth, I knew:
But a little good grain too.
Did not you find me yours,
Would flow, as the Book assures?
What did the failure prove? The man was my whole world, all the same, With his flowers to praise or his weeds to
That I do love, watch too long
Fit subject for some new song: “ How the light, light love, he has wings to fly
“At suspicion of a bond: “My wisdom has bidden your pleasure good-bye, “Which will turn up next in a laughing eye,
“And why should you look beyond?"
V. On the Cliff I LEANED on the turf, 1 I looked at a rock Left dry by the surf; For the turf, to call it grass were to mock: Dead to the roots, so deep was done The work of the summer sun. And the rock lay flat As an anvil's face: No iron like that! Baked dry; of a weed, of a shell, no trace: Sunshine outside, but ice at the core, Death's altar by the lone shore. On the turf, sprang gay With his films of blue, No cricket, I'll say, But a warhorse, barded and chanfroned too, The gift of a quixote-mage to his knight, Real fairy, with wings all right. On the rock, they scorch Like a drop of fire From a brandished torch, Fall two red fans of a butterfly: No turf, no rock: in their ugly stead, See, wonderful blue and red! Is it not so With the minds of men ? The level and low, The burnt and bare, in themselves; but then With such a blue and red grace, not theirs, Love settling unawares !
. VI. Reading a Book under the Cliff “STILL ailing, Wind? Wilt be appeased or no?
D “Which needs the other's office, thou or I ? “Dost want to be disburthened of a woe,
"And can, in truth, my voice untie “Its links, and let it go? “Art thou a dumb wronged thing that would be righted,
"Entrusting thus thy cause to me? Forbear! “No tongue can mend such pleadings; faith, requited
“With falsehood, love, at last aware "Of scorn,-hopes, early blighted, “We have them; but I know not any tone
"So fit as thine to falter forth a sorrow: “Dost think men would go mad without a moan,
“If they knew any way to borrow “A pathos like thy own? “Which sigh wouldst mock, of all the sighs? The one
“So long escaping from lips starved and blue, “That lasts while on her pallet-bed the nun
“Stretches her length; her foot comes through “The straw she shivers on; “You had not thought she was so tall: and spent,
“Her shrunk lids open, her lean fingers shut “Close, close, their sharp and livid nails indent
“The clammy palm; then all is mute: "That way, the spirit went. “Or wouldst thou rather that I understand
“Thy will to help me?- like the dog I found “Once, pacing sad this solitary strand,
“Who would not take my food, poor hound, “But whined and licked my hand.” All this, and more, comes from some young man's pride
Of power to see,-in failure and mistake, Relinquishment, disgrace, on every side,
Merely examples for his sake, Helps to his path untried:
Instances he must-simply recognize?
Oh, more than so!-must, with a learner's zeal, Make doubly prominent, twice emphasize,
By added touches that reveal
Himself the undefeated that shall be:
His triumph, in eternity Too plainly manifest! Whence, judge if he learn forthwith what the wind
Means in its moaning—by the happy prompt
Calm years, exacting their accompt
Just about daybreak, as he looks across
To the sea's edge for gloom and gloss,
So low, so low, what shall it say but this?
“Circumscribe beauty, set to bliss
Better, so call it, only not the same.
And keep it changeless! such our claim;
Tüne, to whose rise and fall we live and die.
From change to change unceasingly, His soul's wings never furled!