Suffered for love such woe Have I, that ask not;
Drunk parting's poison so Have I, that ask not.

Travelled have I the world And now a charmer
Chosen, so sweet of show Have I, that ask not.

After the dust of that Her door for longing,
Eyes on such wise aflow Have I, that ask not.

With this mine ear, from out Her mouth, yest'reven,
Such sweet words hearkened, lo! Have I, that ask not.

At me why bite the lip, As saying, “Speak not?”
A ruby bitten, know, Have I, that ask not.

Without thee, in my cell Of beggary suffered

It sounded in castle and palace,
It sounded in cottage and shed,
It sped over mountains and valleys,
And withered the earth as it sped;
Like a blast in its fell consummation
Of all that we holy should hold,
Thrilled, thrilled thro' the nerves of the nation
A cry for the reign of King Gold.

Up started the chiefs of the city,
And sending it back with a ring,
To the air of a popular ditty,
Erected a throne to the king:
'Twas based upon fiendish persuasions,
Cemented by crimes manifold:
Embellished by specious ovations

I may not weep, I may not weep
The loss of all I held most dear:
There is no solace in a tear,
No medicine for the wound of grief,—
—Too deep, too deep
For any such relief.

There is no rest from thoughts that throng,
That flash a Presence through the mind:
The speaking glance: the voice too kind—
Too kind to work such utter woe,
Such bitter wrong,
Such wreck of all below.

Yet 'neath this sovereign load of ill,
This vast inseparable regret,
The world maintains his tenour yet:-
Their tale of claims the days revive:-
—Not as we will,

He who wants to leave
Let him leave
He who wants to sleep
Let him sleep
And with the time saved
Be silent.

Of flowers as well
Of heaven as well
Of a grave as well

Don't rush
Be silent.

In your flesh
The callused wings
The river that doesn't flow
The idle, idle clouds,
The stars that never wake

Don't dream easily
Don't flow easily
Don't bloom easily

However
Seen with narrowed eyes:

He who wants to leave
His lonely leaving form,
He who wants to sleep
His solitary slumber,

Proudly , lovely, and serenely,
Power and passion in her eye,
With an aspect calm and queenly,
Comes the summer nymph, July—
Crowned with azure, clothed with splendour,
Gorgeous as an eastern bride,
While the glowing hours attend her
O'er the languid landscape wide.

Now the mantle of Aurora
Streams along the morning skies,
But the bridal wreath of Flora
Loses half its sweets and dyes.
Fierce the noontide glory gushes
From the fountains of the sun,
And a thousand stains and flushes
Strew the heavens when day is done.

Great Fount of light, whose overflowing streams
Lend stars their dimmer sparks, Suns brighter beams,
Thy mouth spoke light, thy hands at first did shed it
Along the skie, and through the ayer did spred it,
So shadedst earth with curtains of the night,
And drewst those curtains to give days their light.
Then gathering all that scattered light, compactedst
In one vast burning Lamp, and strait enactedst
That all less lights should beg their borrowed beams,
And from that fountain fill their narrow streams:
So that more spiritual, and sacred ray

Watermillions fresh fum de vine—
Anybody will say deyer fine;
An' Rabbit in hash is nice,
Stirred up wid a han'ful er rice;
An' down in dis neighborhood
Dey say Brer Possum is good.

An' den dar's de big pole-beans,
An' ol'-time collard-greens,
Wid leaf blue-stemmed an' wide—
You kin have um biled or fried!
An' turnips, purple an' white—
I wish I had some dis night!

Yit 'millions, possums, rabbits,
Dey has der ways an' habits,
An' der seasons one an' all,
Summer an' winter an' fall,
An' likewise collard greens,

Ah ! there's Ahouse that I do know
Besouth o' yonder trees,
Where northern winds can hardly blow
But in a softest breeze.
An' there woonce sounded zongs an' teäles
Vrom vaïce o' maïd or youth,
An' sweeter than the nightèngeäle's
Above the copses lewth.

How swiftly there did run the brooks,
How swift wer winds in flight,
How swiftly to their roost the rooks
Did vlee o'er head at night.
Though slow did seem to us the peäce
O' comèn days a-head,
That now do seem as in a reäce
Wi' aïr-birds to ha' vled.

WHILE WALKING down a crowded
City street the other day,
I heard a little urchin
To a comrade turn and say,
“Say, Chimmey, lemme tell youse,
I'd be happy as a clam
If I only was de feller dat
Me mudder t'inks I am.

“She t'inks I am a wonder,
An' she knows her little lad
Could never mix wit' nuttin'
Dat was ugly, mean or bad.
Oh, lot o' times I sit and t'ink
How nice, 'twould be, gee whiz!
If a feller was de feller
Dat his mudder t'inks he is.”

My friends, be yours a life of toil
Or undiluted joy,

I FOUND no beauty on the mountain heights;
I found no beauty where the sea-spray starts;
I found no beauty in God's days and nights;
I found it only in my heart of hearts.

God I created, and the mountain dawn;
My scarlet and azure colored all the charts;
Beauty, the goal whence all has come and gone,
I too created in my heart of hearts.

In wild sea-spray I deified my soul;
My mountain dawn uplifted all the arts;
In every part I found the glorious Whole—
All, all, and only, in my heart of hearts.