There was a man in the land of Ur.

Who's that at my coattails?
A pale cocksman.

Hush!
The rabbi walks in thought
as in an ordained measure
to the Ark
and slowly opens its great doors.
The congregation rises
and faces the six torahs
and the covenant
and all beyond.
The Ark glows.
Hear, O Israel!

The rabbi stands before the light
inside, alone, and prays
It is a modest prayer
for the responsibilities of his office.
The congregation is silent.

I too pray:
Let Leah my wife be recompensed for her sweet smile

I KNOW your heart, O Sea!
You are tossed with cold desire to flood earth utterly;
You run at the cliffs, you fling wild billows at beaches,
You reach at islands with fingers of foam to crumble them;
Yes, even at mountain tops you shout your purpose
Of making the earth a shoreless circle of waters!

I know your surging heart!
Tides mighty and all-contemptuous rise within it,
Tides spurred by the wind to champ and charge and thunder—
Though the sun and moon rein them—
At the troubling land, the breeding-place of mortals,

I RENT the veil that hangs between
The living and the dead,
And cried aloud, ‘Why have you left
Us here uncomforted?

‘Why do you never speak nor come
Again to ease our hearts?
It were a little thing for love
To do, when it departs!’

Then through the veil a voice blew back,
‘Come? we for ever come!
Scarce have we crossed the Silence ere
We hear again time's hum.

‘And turn again to enter it;
But you are blind, nor see
That children come from where we are:
Lo, I your child shall be.’

The veil fell back. And then the child

Only Mount Fuji
has been left uncovered—
the lush young leaves.

Those who have known the Love of Hari's Name, for their house have now no care.
Ever they revered the Sadhus and made their abode in the vault of heaven.
In splendour they live and measureless light: the noose of pitiless Jama is cut.
Bulla proclaims his inmost thought: free from Niranjan's bonds review the show.

We are the roadside flowers,
Straying from garden grounds;
Lovers of idle hours,
Breakers of ordered bounds.

If only the earth will feed us,
If only the wind be kind,
We blossom for those who need us,
The stragglers left behind.

And lo, the Lord of the Garden,
He makes His sun to rise,
And His rain to fall like pardon
On our dusty paradise.

On us He has laid the duty—
The task of the wandering breed—
To better the world with beauty,
Wherever the way may lead.

Who shall inquire of the season,

The tree's early leaf buds were bursting their brown:
“Shall I take them away?” said the frost, sweeping down.
“No, dear; leave them alone
Till blossoms here have grown,”
Prayed the tree, while it trembled from rootlet to crown.

The tree bore its blossoms, and all the birds sung:
“Shall I take them away?” said the wind, as it swung.
“No, dear; leave them alone
Till berries here have grown,”
Said the tree, while its leaflets quivering hung.

The tree bore its fruit in the midsummer glow:
Said the girl, “May I gather thy berries or no?”

Old Books are best! With what delight
Does “Faithorne fecit” greet our sight
On frontispiece or title-page
Of that old time, when on the stage
“Sweet Nell” set “Rowley's” heart alight!

And you, O Friend, to whom I write,
Must not deny, e'ndash though you might,
Through fear of modern pirates' rage,
Old Books are best.

What though the print be not so bright,
The paper dark, the binding slight?
Our author, be he dull or sage,
Returning from that distant age
So lives again, we say of right:
Old Books are best.

Sweet fa's the eve on Craigieburn,
And blythe awakes the morrow,
But a' the pride o' Spring's return
Can yield me nocht but sorrow.—
I see the flowers and spreading trees,
I hear the wild birds singing;
But what a weary wight can please,
And Care his bosom wringing.—

Fain, fain would I my griefs impart,
Yet dare na for your anger;
But secret love will break my heart,
If I conceal it langer.
If thou refuse to pity me;
If thou shalt love anither;
When yon green leaves fade frae the tree,
Around my grave they'll wither.—

Autumn, when even
without it
all things seem mournful,
the sound of the stag's cry
brings tears welling up