English

And all her fresh flusht face was smitten through
With fervent colour, such as sunlight burns
Into delicious depths of blossom-urns:
But then her eyes were of strange sapphire-blue,
Or that which men have seen in early skies
Ere Phosphor in the abyss of perfect purple dies.

Ay , in sweet sport I named her Marigold:
For golden haze of the Calendula
Always upon that antique garden lay;
And the great bulk of her bright hair was rolled
Back from her deer-like head in curious twine
Of gorgeous burnisht gold, splendidly serpentine.

With great good cheer the bells ring out
Upon the starry night;
No threat of war, no cries of hate
Can thwart their loving might.
For all the sorrows of the year
And all the dreams gone wrong
They would atone, and once again
They flood the air with song.

They bring assurance of a day
When joy shall come to earth;
They bid all hearts that now are sad
To wait the world's rebirth—
A world in which good will shall reign,
In which all war shall cease.
Ring out, ye happy bells! Ring in
A bright new world of peace.

They bathed in the fire-flooded fountains:
Life girdled them round and about:
They slept in the clefts of the mountains:
The stars called them forth with a shout.

They prayed, but their worship was only
The wonder at nights and at days,
As still as the lips of the lonely
Though burning with dumbness of praise.

No sadness of earth ever captured
Their spirits who bowed at the shrine:
They fled to the Lonely enraptured
And hid in the darkness divine.

As children at twilight may gather,

She whom I loved, who loves me now no more,
Hath two conflicting natures in her soul:
And one of these she gave me; gave it whole,
And with an innocent emphasis did pour
That self of hers, full-brimm'd and running o'er,
Into the heart I offer'd her—a bowl
Homely perhaps, yet neither slight nor foul,
And apt to hold the treasure that it bore.

But then, her other self arose and cried
Against my gift, against her plenitude
Of sweet acceptance; and in alter'd mood
Sudden she flung that lifted bowl aside:

This is the time when most the mind delights
To lay aside the burthen of its cares,
And give itself to Nature........Sweet and mild
Evening's first breeze comes stealing up the vale,
Wafting soft sea-sounds from the rippling wave,
With flow unceasing; and the balmy air,
Filled with delicious coolness, o'er the soul
Breathes a still quiet, and a holy calm.
A gentle shower, now past and hushed, has bathed
The scene with humid freshness; the green turf,
Besprent with many a dew-drop (brushed away

May's the merriest time of all,
Life comes back to everything,
While a ray of light remains
The never weary blackbirds sing.

That's the cuckoo's strident voice,
“Welcome summer great and good!”
All the fierceness of the storm
Lost in tangles of the wood.

Summer stems the languid stream,
Galloping horses rush the pool,
Bracken bristles everywhere,
White bog cotton is in bloom.

Scant of breath the burdened bees
Carry home the flowery spoil,
To the mountains go the cows,

Now like an arrow you come, sped by an angel,
Tipped with the spirit of wings and pointed with pain—
Only from heaven could fall the dart of your presence
Blinding as the lightning, blown as summer rain.
Herald of heaven you are and the dancing height of wonder,
Visible soul of singing, moving breath of breath …
The dancers of the earth aspire to be winged always.
But you are the dancer of heaven, yearning for death.
How I ache to ease you, reaching with my fingers,
Straining with my heart, through the empty air!

Peace upon men abundant showers
Riches of Plenty; honey-breathing flowers
Of song; on sculptured altars rise
The yellow fires of sacrifice
From woolly sheep and oxen's savoury thighs.
The youths in sports of naked strength rejoice,
Mingle in social feast and give the flute a voice.
Round the rings of iron mail
Their webs the blackening spiders trail;
And the red rust with eating canker wears
The two-edged swords and pointed spears.
The hollow brazen tubes no longer fill
The air with clanging echoes shrill:

Come all of you, my brother scouts,
And join me in my song;
Come, let us sing together,
Though the shadows fall so long.

Of all the old frontiersmen,
That used to scour the plain,
There are but very few of them
That with us yet remain.

Day after day, they're dropping off;
They are going, one by one;
Our clan is fast decreasing;
Our race is almost run.

There were many of our number
That never wore the blue,
But, faithfully they did their part,
As brave men, tried and true.