Entertained by song and dance here in this wine pavilion,
truly a palace of paradise where the soul melts completely away!
Having mastered all the " postures of joy " the Buddhists talk about,
in one spring evening, twenty-five cases
of perfect enlightenment!

Entering the Hall, she meets the new wife:
Leaving the gate, she runs into her former husband.
Words stick: she does not manage to say anything:
She presses her hands together and hesitates.
Agitates moon-like fan — sheds pearl-like tears —
Realizes she loves him just as much as ever:
That her present pain will never come to an end.

Enough : you have the dream, the flame;
Free it henceforth:
The South has given you a name;—
Now for the North.

Unsheathe your ship from where she lies,
In narrow ease;
Fling out her sails to the tall skies,
Flout the sharp seas.

Beyond bleak headlands wistful burn
Warm lights of home;
In shutting darkness frays astern,
Far-spun, the foam.

Come wide sea-dawns, that empty are
Of wet sea sand;
Come eves, that lay beneath a star
No lull of land.

And whether on faint iris wings
Of fancy borne,

Enough; and leave the rest to Fame!
'Tis to commend her, but to name.
Courtship which, living, she declined,
When dead, to offer were unkind:
Nor can the truest wit, or friend,
Without detracting, her commend.

To say--she lived a virgin chaste
In this age loose and all unlaced;
Nor was, when vice is so allowed,
Of virtue or ashamed or proud;
That her soul was on Heaven so bent,
No minute but it came and went;
That, ready her last debt to pay,
She summ'd her life up every day;
Modest as morn, as mid-day bright,

Enigmatical, tremulous,
Voice of the troubled wires,
What remembering desires
Wail to me, wandering thus
Up through the night with a cry,
Inarticulate, insane.
Out of the night of the street and the rain
Into the rain and the night of the sky?

Inarticulate voice of my heart,
Rusty, a worn-out thing,
Harsh with a broken string,
Mended, and pulled apart,
All the old tunes played through,
Fretted by hands that have played,
Tremulous voice that cries to me out of the shade,
The voice of my heart is crying in you.

With its baby rivers and little towns, each with its abbey or its/cathedral,
with voices — one voice perhaps, echoing through the transept — the
criterion of suitability and convenience: and Italy
with its equal shores — contriving an epicureanism
from which the grossness has been extracted:

and Greece with its goat and its gourds,
the nest of modified illusions: and France,
the " chrysalis of the nocturnal butterfly, "
in whose products mystery of construction
diverts one from what was originally one's object —

E NGLAND , we love thee better than we know —
And this I learned, when, after wanderings long
'Mid people of another stock and tongue,
I heard again thy martial music blow,
And saw thy gallant children to and fro
Pace, keeping ward at one of those huge gates,
Which, like twin-giants, watch the Herculean straits:
When first I came in sight of that brave show,
It made my very heart within me dance,
To think that thou thy proud foot shouldst advance
Forward so far into the mighty sea;
Joy was it and exultation to behold

England! the time is come when thou shouldst wean
Thy heart from its emasculating food;
The truth should now be better understood;
Old things have been unsettled; we have seen
Fair seedtime, better harvest might have been
But for thy trespasses; and at this day,
If for Greece, Egypt, India, Africa,
Aught good were destined, thou wouldst step between.
England! all nations in this charge agree:
But worse, more ignorant in love and hate,
Far--far more abject, is thine Enemy:
Therefore the wise pray for thee, though the freight

M ARVELLOUSLY elate,
Love makes my spirit warm
With noble sympathies:
As one whose mind is set
Upon some glorious form,
To paint it as it is; —
I verily who bear
Thy face at heart, most fair,
Am like to him in this.

Not outwardly declared,
Within me dwells enclosed
Thine image as thou art.
Ah! strangely hath it fared!
I know not if thou know'st
The love within my heart.
Exceedingly afraid,
My hope I have not said,
But gazed on thee apart.

Because desire was strong,
I made a portraiture

Hard is it for a man to please all men:
I therefore speak in doubt,
And as one may that looketh to be chid.
But who can hold his peace in these days? — when
Guilt cunningly slips out,
And Innocence atones for what he did;
When worth is crushed, even if it be not hid;
When on crushed worth, guile sets his foot to rise;
And when the things wise men have counted wise
Make fools to smile and stare and lift the lid.

Let none who have not wisdom govern you:
For he that was a fool
At first shall scarce grow wise under the sun.