I FOUND in flowers my love asleep
Where scents and shadows fell most deep:
I wonder if my love would weep
To know I found her laid asleep.

I kissed her eyelids as she lay,
She did not wake or turn away;
To her what bird or bee shall say
I kissed her eyelids as she lay?

O Lord, my honour is in Thy hand.
I am ever in Thy care: hear me, O Thou that carest for the poor.
Thy promise is that sinners Thou wilt save: the voice rings in my ears.
I am grown old in sin: bring my boat safe to the further shore.
Thou art the destroyer of sins, the dispeller of the troubles of men: this only is Thy work.
Be merciful to Tulsi Das: grant him now devotion as a boon from Thee.

God give the yellow man
An easy breeze at blossom time.
Grant his eager, slanting eyes to cover
Every land and dream
Of afterwhile.

Give blue-eyed men their swivel chairs
To whirl in tall buildings.
Allow them many ships at sea,
And on land, soldiers
And policemen.

For black man, God,
No need to bother more
But only fill afresh his meed
Of laughter,
His cup of tears.

God suffer little men
The taste of soul's desire.

A single teardrop
out of the sea of tears I wept without you knowing,
the darkest crimson sadness
sank deep, deep into the earth and
rose again in April.

A clump of blood someone's thrown away
lying in this riverbed, that riverbed
blown clean, clean year-round
to the smell of yesterday's sky
to the smell of sunlight I awoke.

Azaleas, azaleas.
Azaleas everywhere.

And to the Father of Eternal days,
And fairest things, that fairer yet will be,
Shall I no song of adoration raise,
While Passion's world, and Life's great agony,
Are one dread hymn, dread Progresser! to thee?
Thou, Love, are Progress! And be thine the praise
If I have ever lov'd thy voice divine,
And o'er the sadness of my slander'd lays
Flings its redeeming charm a note of thine.
Oh, Gentlest Might Almighty! if of mine
One strain shall live, let it thy impress bear;
And please wherever humble virtues twine
The rose and woodbine with the thorns of care,

What doth it cover? Mystery and Thee.
Life Everlasting, and All-vital Sleep,
That Mystery is, and evermore will be.
Thou art all passions, all in one, dark Fear!
All passions of all men, the bond and free,
Whether they love, or hate, or laugh, or weep;
For all would have, and all who have would keep.
Then, lift the veil, and thy own features see
Beneath it, thou strong servant of Love's might!
Taught by the Progresser to show Man here
God's face in goodness only, and the right:
Reading his Name in darkness which is light;
And ever summoning the infinite

Answer me, Fear! Thou in the depths dost dwell,
In darkest depth; for light is dark to thee,
And noon concealeth the dread Mystery
Which men call nothingness, and fate, and hell.
Profoundest Fear! who, closing thy wide eyes,
Beholdest God! and two eternities!
And shriek'st. “The One! The sole Infallible!”
Brave Trembler! Thou, who seek'st, and fear'st to find,
The Cause Uncaus'd of mindless things and mind.
The Unapproach'd, Unsearchable, Alone!
If pain thou know'st, if weakness knows thee well,
And if thy weakness is unmeasur'd might,

Night! starless Night! thick darkness, floor'd with snow!
If this be death, the Soul of Things repairs,
In death, the strength by which th' immortals reign,
And suffering truth to be a martyr dares:
If this be death, in death the mind prepares
The growths of larger thought than yet hath been,—
The unconceiv'd, that shall be felt and seen,
And bow the heav'ns, to lighten toil and pain:
If this be death, through death to life we go!
For what is death, but sleep in starless night?
In sleep, the childless sees her son restor'd;

The evening of the Year's last day is come;
And on pale Erin's face, (but not like one
Who hath no hope,) with lingering gaze, the sun
Looks, pausing still to look. There is no bloom
On her clos'd lips, no passion on her brow;
Yet never seem'd she beautiful as now!
And pride and grandeur deepen in the gloom
Which his large brow casts o'er her winding-sheet
And lifeless locks. The blue sky is her tomb,
The sea her bier. “We part,” he says, “to meet;
Yet shalt thou live, and love, be bless'd, and bless;
Yet shalt thou—holy, happy, chang'd—arise.”

The morning of the last day of the year
Instructs me that my course is nearly run.
I thank thee that I see another sun,
Father of Seasons! that I still am here
To do thy will; and that the dawn is near
Of a New Life for me. What have I won
In worthy strife? What good work unbegun
Awaits me? Father, I must soon appear
Before thee, to be sentenc'd. If I strove
In kindness, I am safe. What is our own?
That only which we build for thee and thine.
Who shall reap love, unless he sow in love?
If I have labour'd for myself alone,