English

O SUBTILE secret of the air,
Making the things that are not, fair
Beyond the things that we can reach
And name with names of clumsy speech;
By shadow-worlds of purple haze
The sunniest of sunny days
Outweighing in our hearts' delight;
Opening the eyes of blinded sight;
Holding an echo in such hold,
Bidding a hope such wings unfold,
That present sounds and sights between
Can come and go, unheard, unseen,—
O subtile secret of the air,
Heaven itself is heavenly fair
By help of thee! The saints' good days

God of our Fathers,
Bless this Thy land;
Ocean to ocean
Owneth Thy hand.
Home of all nations
From far and near,
Give, to unite us,
Thy faith and fear.
God of our Fathers,
Failing us never,
God of our Fathers,
Be ours for ever.

Lord God of Sabaoth,
Mighty in war,
Boundless and numberless
Thine armies are.
Thy right hand conquereth
All that oppose;
Launch forth Thy thunderbolts,
Smite down our foes!
Lord God of Sabaoth,
Failing us never,
Lord God of Sabaoth,

We slave, we beg, we cross the seas;
We revere, we rule, we compose, our songs we raise,
All to feed this wretched body of ours,
Which tortures us for a measure of rice!

Last night when my work was done,
And my estranged hands
Were becoming mutually interested
In such forgotten things as pulses,
I looked out of a window
Into a glittering night sky.

And instantly
I began to feather-stitch a ring around the moon.

Alas, my lifetime may appear
A morning-glory's hour to-day.

Well, Luath, man, when you came prancing
All glee to see your Robin dancing,
His partner's muslin gown mischancing
You leaped for joy!
And little guessed what sweet romancing
You caused, my boy!

With happy bark, that moment jolly,
You frisked and frolicked, faithful collie;
His other dog, old melancholy,
Was put to flight—
But what a tale of grief and folly
You wagged that night!

Ah, Luath, tyke, your bonny master
Whose lyric pulse beat ever faster
Each time he saw a lass and passed her

T ERNISSA ! you are fled!
I say not to the dead,
But to the happy ones who rest below:
For, surely, surely, where
Your voice and graces are,
Nothing of death can any feel or know.
Girls who delight to dwell
Where grows most asphodel,
Gather to their calm breasts each word you speak:
The mild Persephone
Places you on her knee,
And your cool palm smoothes down stern Pluto's cheek.

We are they who come faster than fate: we are they who ride early or late:
We storm at your ivory gate: Pale Kings of the Sunset, beware!
Not on silk nor in samet we lie, not in curtained solemnity die
Among women who chatter and cry, and children who mumble a prayer.
But we sleep by the ropes of the camp, and we rise with a shout, and we tramp
With the sun or the moon for a lamp, and the spray of the wind in our hair.

From the lands, where the elephants are, to the forts of Merou and Balghar,

Queen Eleanor was a sick woman,
And afraid that she should die;
Then she sent for two friars of France
To speak with her speedily.

The king called down his nobles all,
By one, by two, by three;
"Earl Marshall, I'll go shrive the queen,
And thou shalt wend with me."

"A boon, a boon," quoth Earl Marshall,
And fell on his bended knee,
"That whatsoever Queen Eleanor say,
No harm thereof may be."

"I'll pawn my lands," the king then cried,
"My scepter, crown, and all,
That whatsoever Queen Eleanor says,

Desolate , dark and dreary
The dawning Christmas morn,
Desolate, dark and dreary
This day that Christ was born.

Quietly, slowly, softly,
The snow sinks as a cloud,
Quietly, slowly, softly,
The snow falls like a shroud.

Silently, surely, weary,
The sentries pace their beat,
Silently, surely, weary,
The lagging hours we meet.

Imprisoned, lonely, hoping,
The future is our goal,
Imprisoned, lonely, hoping,
Time takes of us her toll.