Ship , blest to bear such freight across the blue,
May stormless stars control thy horoscope;
In keel and hull, in every spar and rope,
Be night and day to thy dear office true!
Ocean, men's path and their divider too,
No fairer shrine of memory and hope
To the underworld adown thy westering slope
E'er vanished, or whom such regrets pursue:
Smooth all thy surges as when Jove to Crete
Swam with less costly burthen, and prepare
A pathway meet for her home-coming soon
With golden undulations such as greet
The printless summer-sandals of the moon

From pain and sorrow all around
There's no escape, I fear;
To mountain wilds should I retreat,
There also I should hear
The cry of hunted deer.

Creation now in slumber lies,—O, watch in me!
Sleep waits to snare my weary eyes,—O, watch in me!
Thou Eye, that in the heavens watchest, with starry glance,
When close in sleep my weary eyes, O, watch in me!
Thou Light, through ether beaming higher than sun and moon,
When sun and moon forsake the skies, O, watch in me!
When on this outer world is closing the door of sense,
Sink not my soul in dread surprise,—O, watch in me!
O, suffer not the power of darkness, the gloom of night,
To quench the light of inner skies!—O, watch in me!

Overhead at sunset all heard the choir.
Nothing could be seen except jewelled gray
Raining beauty earthward, flooding with desire
All things that listened there in the broken day;
Songs from freer breathers, their unprisoned fire
Out of cloudy fountains, flying and hurled,
Fell and warmed the world.

Sudden came a wind and birds were laid bare,
Only music warmed them round their brown breasts.
They had sent the splendors pouring through the air,
Love was their heat and home far above their nests.
Light went softly out and left their voices there.

I LOVE her for her charming face,
And those fond eyes that gaze on me,
And roguish lips that hold the place
Where other lips most long to be,
The rosy cheek, the dimpled chin,
That would less ardent lover win.

I love her just because I do,
Because 'tis such a pleasure, too,
And were such wooing
My undoing
Just as tenderly I 'd woo,
I could n't help it, nor could you.

I love her for her dimpled hand,
And hold it just to see her frown,
And disobey her sweet command
To see her dainty foot come down.

In the spring a young man's fancy
Lightly turns—you know the thing.
Tennyson's extravagancy,
“In the spring—”

Gay the garlands that I fling
In my wild exuberancy,
Happier I than any king.

And I print my petulancy,
Saddest when I have to sing.
Work's a thing I simply can't see
In the spring.

Lady in the blue kimono, you that live across the way,
One may see you gazing, gazing, gazing all the livelong day,
Idly looking out your window from your vantage point above.
Are you convalescent, lady? Are you worse? Are you in love?

Ever gazing, as you hang there on the little window seat,
Into flats across the way or down upon the prosy street.
Can't you rent a pianola? Can't you iron, sew, or cook?
Write a letter, bake a pudding, make a bed or read a book?

Tell me of the fascination you indubitably find

They'd better all be keerful,
An' look out whar they tread!
I never seen Old Glory
A-ripplin' out so red!

She's like a million rainbows
Way up thar on the shed,
With the stars of states a-twinklin',
An' the old stripes ripplin' red!

Be keerful—mighty keerful!
Thar's trouble overhead;
I never seen Old Glory
A-ripplin' out so red!

I'm a-goin' to meet my lover at the grindin' of the cane—
At the grindin' of the cane,
At the grindin' of the cane;
He's comin' on his pony in a canter down the lane—
He passes all the purty girls, an' gives his pony rein;
Fer my lover's goin' to meet me,
My lover's goin' to meet me
At the grindin'—at the grindin' of the cane!

I'm a-goin' to meet my lover at the grindin' of the cane—
At the grindin' of the cane,
At the grindin' of the cane;
He gallops 'crost the medders—he canters down the lane,

Long ago, in ages grey,
I was fashioned out of clay:
Builded with the sun and moon,
Kneaded to a holy tune;
And there came to me a breath
From the House of Life and Death.

Then the sun roared into fire!
And the moon, with swift desire,
Leaped among the starry throng,
Singing on her journey long!
And I climbed up from the sod,
Holding to the hand of God.

In a garden fair and wide,
Looking down a mountain side,
Prone I lay; and felt the press
Of Immensity's caress;
There I lived a space, and knew
What All Power meant to do.