English

" Oh heaven bless you, heaven keep you, sweet! "
It was God's hand that dropped the healing balm
Upon her head, and clothed in prayerful calm
Her soul as saints are robed from head to feet.

Gone is the beautiful beloved voice
That spake that blessing in the vanished years;
Yet in her grateful memory still she hears
The tender tones that made her heart rejoice.

And ever will, while memory keeps her seat;
And though she dwelt among the nameless dead,
Her dust would thrill beneath the voice that said,

Who hath the wit to catch God's will,
And swear — " By God, I'll do it!
" Though men shall crown, or men shall frown,
" I'll steadily pursue it " :

Well, it may tarry many a year,
While fools do rule the roast-a,
Yet comes a day God's Self doth say,
" Behold the Friend I toast-a " !

We fought south of the city wall
We died north of the ramparts
In the wilderness we dead lie unburied, fodder for crows
Let the crows for us:
We've always been brave men!
The wilderness we dead clearly lie unburied,
So how can our rotting flesh flee from you? "
Waters deep, rushing, rushing,
Reeds and rushes, darkening, darkening
Heroic horsemen fought and died fighting,
Flagging horses whinnied in panic.
Raftered houses we built,
And south, alas! and north;

At fifteen I joined the army,
At eighty I first came home
On the road I met a villager,
" At my home what kin are there? "
" Look over there — that's your home! "
Pine, cypress, burial mounds piled, piled high,
Hares going in through dog holes,
Pheasants flying in through rafter tops;
The inner garden grown wild with corn,
Over the well wild mallow growing.
I pound grain to serve for a meal,
I pick mallow to serve for broth.
Once broth and meal are cooked
I'm at a loss to know whom to feed.

I.

Muse, I will show thee, on a grassy mound
Moving with tufted shadows, albeit bare
Herself, for yet young April primes the air
And bloom snow-laden boughs, the tree I love.
London doth compass it with shores of sound
And thrills the buds when there's no breath above
To shake its fountain beauty. Thus I came
Along the courtly mere of thicket isles,
And Spring entoil'd me in a hundred wiles,
Bringing the heart content without a name.
Broods, russet-plumed and emerald, steer'd on

That Life is a Comedy oft hath been shown,
By all who Mortality's changes have known;
But more like a Volume its actions appear,
Where each Day is a Page and each Chapter a year.
'Tis a Manuscript Time shall full surely unfold,
Though with Black-Letter shaded, or shining with gold;
The Initial, like Youth, glitters bright on its Page,
But its Text is as dark — as the gloom of Old Age.
Then Life's Counsels of Wisdom engrave on thy breast,
And deep on thine Heart be her lessons imprest.

I.

Beauty, thou secret lamp, awake!
Tremble into sound!
Burn in me now, as thou didst break
Those glooms profound
When with laughter of Olympians we
Marched to a song,
Vagabonds young, vagabonds free,
Up the mountains long.
Our road over roots of Apennine
Wound up star-proof,
For the thick-enwoven forest pine
Made it a roof
Trebled for the foot-weary wight —

As one who, destined from his friends to part,
Regrets his loss, yet hopes again erewhile,
To share their converse and enjoy their smile,
And tempers as he may affliction's dart, —
Thus, loved associates! chiefs of elder Art!
Teachers of wisdom! who could once beguile
My tedious hours, and lighten every toil,
I now resign you; nor with fainting heart;
For pass a few short years, or days, or hours
And happier seasons may their dawn unfold,
And all your sacred fellowship restore;
When, freed from earth, unlimited its powers,

Hence, hence away, thou murderous Winter: hence
Thy chilling breath, fierce lowered brows, and heart
Reckless of mercy! See, at how foul expense
Of earth's last loveliness in ruthless part
Thou suff'rest the odorous flower no more to bloom,
Nor dear bird sing, nor aught escape thy doom!

Yet art thou doomed thyself. This gracious morn,
This February morn's soft fitful sun and sky
Of tremulous blue, bid hope once more be born.
Hail, herald of a world's renaissance nigh—
Of daffodil, and swallow, and rich song

Creening Yang starts to stir,
Causing root and bulb to obey,
Its rich moisture loving all alike
Radpaw creatures their own ways come forth,
The sound of thunder brings out flowers' glory
Fair-dwellers lean to hear
The barren again give birth,
And so fulfill their destiny
All the people rejoice, rejoice
Blessings are on the young and pregnant
All living things are quickened, quickened
Such is the good gift of Spring.