English

Tho' safe thou think'st thy treasure lies,
Hidden in chests from human eyes,
A fire may come, and it may be
Bury'd, my friend, as far from thee.
Thy vessel that yon' ocean stems,
Loaded with golden dust and gems,
Purchas'd with so much pains and cost,
Yet in a tempest may be lost.
Pimps, whores, and bawds, a thankless crew,
Priests, pickpockets, and lawyers too,
All help by several ways to drain,
Thanking themselves for what they gain.
The liberal are secure alone,
For what we frankly give for ever is our own.

My spirit stood and listened in its awe
Beside the great abyss where seethes the Past,
And caught the voices that were upward cast
By those whom Fate whirled on like floating straw;

While, in the glimmering depth, I vaguely saw,
Lashed to some frail remainder of a mast,
The wretches drifting faster and more fast,
Sucked down for ever in the whirlpool's maw:

And these wild voices of despair and fear,
Of love and hate, from out the deep abyss
I treasured up, just as they struck the ear,—

When I—the fool—am dead,
There will be one to stand above my head,
Her wan lips yearning for my quiet lips
That stung her soul so oft with bitter cries.
And I shall feel forgiving finger-tips
And I shall hear her saying with her sighs:
“This fool I mothered sucked a bitter breast;
His life was fever and his soul was fire:
O burning fool, O restless fool at rest,
No other knew how high you could aspire,
No other knew how deep your soul could sink!”

And when these words above the fool are said,

Blessed the Dead in Spirit, our brave dead
Not passed, but perfected:
Who tower up to mystical full bloom
From self, as from a known alchemic tomb;
Who out of wrong
Run forth with laughter and a broken thong;
Who win from pain their strange and flawless grant
Of peace anticipant;
Who cerements lately wore of sin, but now,
Unbound from foot to brow,
Gleam in and out of cities, beautiful
As sun-born colours of a forest pool
Where Autumn sees
The splash of walnuts from her thinning trees.

Love-dazed, on rosy paths I sought thee far;
That was the spring, my gay and stormy prime.
Then I encountered thee with smiles and war;
Those were the manhood years of summer-time.
I thank thee for the joy thy presence gave;
'T is autumn, when our bed must be—the grave.

Oh, dark is the spirit that loves not the land
Whose breezes his brow have in infancy fann'd,
That feels not his bosom responsively thrill
To the voice of her forest, the gush of her rill.

Who hails not the flowers that bloom on his way,
As blessings there scattered his love to repay;
Who loves not to wander o'er mountain and vale,
Where echoes the voice of the loud rushing gale.

Who treads not with awe where his ancestors lie,
As their spirits around him are hovering nigh,
Who seeks not to cherish the flowers that bloom,

My mind is like an electric bulb
With a broken filament.
The tremulous fine threads of thought
Waver and waver and waver
And when they meet
There is a little fizzing flash,
And my soul is filled
With a sudden delicate green-blue light.

A MID a waste and solitary field,
Upon the twilight boundary of the day,
Upspake the timeless flintstone huge and gray:
“Why should my counsel be forever sealed?
To thee an ancient truth shall be revealed—
To thee, a wavering mortal, brief of stay:—
Something of kin,—thou piece of passioned clay,
Art thou and I, whom passion ne'er did wield;

For, lo! did not Deucalion at the flood
Behind him fling us stones—and men we grew?
With limbs we moved abroad, with lips we spake!

Wearily with tears of anguish
Prisoners aloud were crying,
In a dark and dismal prison
Suffering and sighing for their fate;
With words sorrowful their fetters
Now to loosen they are vying:
“Where art thou, O Virgin Mother,
For whom still in hope we wait?
The Lord of all the world awaken
To redeem our piteous state.”
As the Virgin knelt in prayer
The angel now came flying:
“Ave rosa gratiâ plena”
Greeting her predestinate.
“Release the hapless prisoners
Who for thee are ever sighing,

When we had reached the gate I raised my eyes
And, kissing you good night, I laughed and said
I feared the stars might strike you from the skies,
Like crystal stones on your too happy head.