English

The Patriarch wrestled with the angel long,
For though of mortal race, yet he was strong;
Nor would release him at the break of day,
That he might take his upward, heavenly way.
Bless me, he cried, ere I shall let thee go,
Thou art an angel, and no mortal foe;
Who, through the night's dark hours, couldst thus maintain
With me a contest on the starry plain.
What is thy name? the angel asked again,
For thou hast power alike with God, and men.
Jacob, he said. The angel blessed him there,
Henceforth the name of Israel thou shalt bear;

Replacing the rays
of late sun
that streamed in the window,
shedding a different light:
an early evening moon

A grove of woods, as if brushed over, trees vague,
the moon atop the woods, opaque, is about to fade.
On my return passage I simply rely on fireflies for the light;
along the bank the water's dark, the rushes grown tall.

The foundations of Philosophic Doubt
Are based on this single premiss:
‘Shall we be able to get out
To Wimbledon in time for tennis?

L ET'S meet again to-night, my Fair,
Let's meet unseen of all;
The day-god labours to his lair,
And then the evenfall!

O living lute, O lily-rose,
O form of fantasie,
When torches waste and warders doze
Steal to the stars will we!

While nodding knights carouse at meat
And shepherds shamble home,
We'll cleave in close embracements—sweet
As honey in the comb!

Till crawls the dawn from Condol's crown,
And over Neitan's Kieve,
As grimly ghosts we conjure down
And hopes still weave and weave!

Gilbert had sailed to India's shore,
And I was all alone:
My lord came in at my open door
And said, ‘O fairest one!’

He leant upon the slant bureau,
And sighed, ‘I am sick for thee!’
‘My Lord,’ said I, ‘pray speak not so,
Since wedded wife I be.’

Leaning upon the slant bureau,
Bitter his next words came:
‘So much I know; and likewise know
My love burns on the same!

‘But since you thrust my love away,
And since it knows no cure,
I must live out as best I may

These two pieces, written during the suspense of a great nation's agony, aim at expressing human sympathy, not political bias.
1.
“THY BROTHER'S BLOOD CRIETH.”
All her corn-fields rippled in the sunshine,
?All her lovely vines, sweets-laden, bowed;
Yet some weeks to harvest and to vintage:
?When, as one man's hand, a cloud
Rose and spread, and, blackening, burst asunder
In rain and fire and thunder.
Is there nought to reap in the day of harvest?
?Hath the vine in her day no fruit to yield?

O Christ my God Who seest the unseen,
O Christ my God Who knowest the unknown,
Thy mighty Blood was poured forth to atone
For every sin that can be or hath been.

O Thou Who seest what I cannot see,
Thou Who didst love us all so long ago,
O Thou Who knowest what I must not know,
Remember all my hope, remember me.

Pressed with conflicting thoughts of love and fear
I parted from thee, Friend, and took my way
Through the great City, pacing with an eye
Downcast, ear sleeping, and feet masterless
That were sufficient guide unto themselves,
And step by step went pensively. Now, mark!
Not how my trouble was entirely hushed,
(That might not be) but how, by sudden gift,
Gift of Imagination's holy power,
My Soul in her uneasiness received
An anchor of stability.—It chanced
That while I thus was pacing, I raised up

God on our Youth bestowes but little ease;
But on our Age most sweet Indulgences.