A blessing on the broad, bright lands
Whose children come to ours,
And lead us with their fragrant hands
Around the world of flowers.

No dust upon the sandalled feet,
As they who go to find,
In other lands, a flower as sweet
As one they left behind.

With them our thoughts all journeys take,
With them our fancies roam,
And ever when we will, we wake
And find ourselves at home.

They wake for us the breath and bloom,
Where soft Circassia smiles;
They veil beneath their tender bloom
The maidens of the isles.

Withered wisteria, old tree, darkling crows—
Little bridge over flowing water by someone's house—
Emaciated horse on an ancient road in the western wind—
Evening sun setting in the west—
Broken-hearted man on the horizon.

One Birth our Saviour had; the like none yet
Was, or will be a second like to it.

Two women on the lone wet strand
—(The wind's out with a will to roam)
The waves wage war on rocks and sand,
—(And a ship is long due home.)

The sea sprays in the women's eyes—
—(Hearts can writhe like the sea's wild foam)
Lower descend the tempestuous skies,
—(For the wind's out with a will to roam.)

“O daughter, thine eyes be better than mine,”
—(The waves ascend high as yonder dome)
“North or south is there never a sign?”
—(And a ship is long due home.)

They watched there all the long night through—
—(The wind's out with a will to roam)

Heroes, and Kings! your distance keep:
In peace let one poor Poet sleep,
Who never flatter'd Folks like you:
Let Horace blush, and Virgil too.

I will not draw only a house or a tree,
I will draw very Me;
Everything I think, everything I see!

I will have no shame,
No hope of praise nor fear of blame!
These things are mean things, and the same.

I am the product of old laws,
Old effect of old cause.
The thing that is, may make the blind gods pause.

Now Gilderoy was a bonny boy, and he would not the ribbons wear;
He pulled off his scarlet coat, he gartered below his knee.
He was beloved by the ladies so fair, he was such a rakish boy;
He was my sovereign, my heart's delight, my charming young Gilderoy.

Young Gilderoy and I were born all in one town together,
And at the age of sixteen years we courted one another.
Our dads and mothers both did agree and crowned with mirth and joy,
To think upon our wedding day, with me and my Gilderoy.

Now Gilderoy and I walked out all in the fields together,

Rather unto the Truth than unto one
Who sleepeth here is raised this monument.
To her he yields his tomb and is content.
Ye living singers, shower and wind and sun,

Days, nights, and flowers obey your fancy's Art,
And mean your meanings, otherwhere; they own,
Here in this little sanctuary alone,
Meanings beyond the deepest poet's heart.

Sing through the world; this is another world,
This poet's empire, but he will not claim
One flower sprung from his heart, nor ever steep

One with his thoughts; his thoughts in truth are furled.

Still held in sweet remembrance thou, my friend,
As when I knew thee in thy maiden prime;
Though later years to ripening graces lend
The graver traits, whilst we together climb
The pathway upward to those loftier heights,
‘Bove clouded prospects and familiar sights.
Thy gracious worth shines brightly in mine eyes,
Thy warm heart's labors, thy large liberal brain,
Ennobling studies, and broad charities,
Thou woman worthy of the coming age!
Whilst household duties thou dost well sustain,
Yet ampler service for thy sex presage;

Before our lives divide for ever,
While time is with us and hands are free,
(Time, swift to fasten and swift to sever
Hand from hand, as we stand by the sea)
I will say no word that a man might say
Whose whole life's love goes down in a day;
For this could never have been; and never
Though the gods and the years relent, shall be.

Is it worth a tear, is it worth an hour,
To think of things that are well outworn?
Of fruitless husk and fugitive flower,
The dream foregone and the deed forborne?
Though joy be done with and grief be vain,