English

Ioine, Noblest Earle, in giuing worthy grace,
To this great gracer of Nobilitie:
See here what sort of men, your honor'd place
Doth properly command; if Poesie
(Profest by them) were worthily exprest.
The grauest, wisest, greatest, need not, then,
Account that part of your command the least;
Nor them such idle, needlesse, worthlesse Men.
Who can be worthier Men in publique weales,
Then those (at all parts) that prescrib'd the best?
That stird vp noblest vertues, holiest zeales;
And euermore haue liu'd as they profest?

Promenading their
skirted galleons of sex,
the two office assistants

rock unevenly
together
down the broad stairs,

one
(as I follow slowly
in the trade wind

of my admiration)
gently
slapping her thighs.

This is the house. On one side there is darkness,
On one side there is light.
Into the darkness you may lift your lanterns—
Oh, any number—it will still be night.
And here are echoing stairs to lead you downward
To long sonorous halls.
And here is spring forever at these windows,
With roses on the walls.

This is her room. On one side there is music—
On one side not a sound.
At one step she could move from love to silence,
Feel myriad darkness coiling round.
And here are balconies from which she heard you,

She is gone, she is lost, she is found, she is ever fair:
Sorrow draws weakly where love draws not too:
Woe's cries sound nothing, but only in love's ear:
Do then by dying what life cannot do. . . .
Unfold thy flocks and leave them to the fields,
To feed on hills or dales where likes them best
Of what the summer or the spring-time yields,
For love and time hath given thee leave to rest.
Thy heart which was their fold, now in decay
By often storms and winter's many blasts,
All torn and rent becomes misfortune's prey;

It is October. Let us go.
It is the grand finale. Come——
let us not wait for the fall of the curtain.
I am weary of seeing curtains fall.

But look. The tragic chorus are now arrayed about the stage——
and there is Atropos at the center, making ready to utter her lines.

Look. Even the great vain mountains are making themselves ready.
They are using the lake as a mirror.
They are smeared with peroxide and rouge, and are searching for wrinkles.

Look. The stagehands are already setting the stage for another show.

O dark and cruel State
Whose towers are altars unto self alone—
Whose streets with tears are wet,
And half thy councils given unto hate!
Shall Time not hurl thy temples stone from stone,
And o'er the ruin set
A fairer city than the years have known?
Out of thy darkness do we find us dreams,
And on the future gleams
The vision of thy ramparts built anew.
Mammon and War sit now a double throne,
Yet what we dream, a wiser Age shall do.

Be ye lift up, O everlasting gates
Of that far city men shall build for man!

O, Little David, play on your harp,
That ivory harp with the golden strings
And sing as you did in Jewry Land,
Of the Prince of Peace and the God of Love
And the Coming Christ Immanuel.
O, Little David, play on your harp.

A seething world is gone stark mad;
And is drunk with the blood,
Gorged with the flesh,
Blinded with the ashes
Of her millions of dead
From out it all and over all
There stands, years old and fully grown,
A monster in the guise of man.
He is of war and not of war;
Born in peace,

Every day hath toil and trouble,
Every heart hath care:
Meekly bear thine own full measure,
And thy brother's share.
Fear not, shrink not, though the burden
Heavy to thee prove:
God shall fill thy mouth with gladness,
And thy heart with love.

Patiently enduring ever,
Let thy spirit be
Bound by links that naught can sever
To humanity.
Labor! wait! Thy Master perished
Ere his task was done:
Count not lost thy fleeting moments,—
Life hath but begun.

Labor! wait! Though midnight shadows

The shadowy semblance, lo! is past!—
Loudly yells the midnight blast,
And, hark! the death-bell's sullen toll
Strikes upon my shrinking soul!
Whither, whither am I led?
“To the drear caverns of the dead,
Here with murder shalt thou dwell,
Mark yon bleeding Phantom well,
Know you not the wound you gave,
You was bloody, he was brave;
In the dark you dealt the blow,
With a hatchet fell'd him low,
His clefThead distended wide,
Hideous hangs upon each side;
Why, dost thou, enwrithing start,