English

If I were Sleep,
With scythe to reap,
Like faded flowers,
The weary hours
Of withered day, —
If I were Sleep,
With dreams to keep
And give away, —

Hail, Master of boundless vision and heart profound!
Thou, to whose magic hand God gave the keys,
Wherewith to unlock for man life's mysteries
In its most dim recesses — yea, to sound
All passionate depths. Yet art thou, Master, crowned
Not with grave laurel only, but heart's-ease,
Kingcaps, rose, eglantine, when thou dost please
In tenderer mood to tread earth's homestead-ground.

Friend of our youth, our manhood, age — thrice hailed:
For each thou abidest with frank proferred hand
Gentlest in counsel, or for stern command,

Breathe not of Chance amid this roar of strife;
Nor bid men nerve their spirit by some thought
Of Monte Carlo's gambling. Nay, what's caught
From happenings there and calculations, rife
With ill excitement, in this hour of life
Or death to calm us, whilst the battle's fought
High in the moon-lit heaven? Vain solace brought
To steady self or server, child or wife!

One stay alone avails — 'tis quiet prayer,
'Tis Duty's call to manhood in complete
Surrender to a Presence calm and near
O'er all hell's infamy and man's deceit,

When in rapt wonder thou dost silent stand
Before some beauteous miracle of old days,
Till even the best that men may now command
Seems but coined counterfeit; Friend, do not gaze
In fretful longing that thy life had passed
Amid those earlier ages. Earth, heaven, sea —
Are they not thine as theirs? nor yet less vast
Broods over all One That bids worlds to be.

O thou of little faith, with manlier view
Lift up thine eyes in sentient mood to face
Whate'er surrounds thee, and those problems new

The morning breaks, the storm is past. Behold!
Along the west the lift grows bright, — the sea
Leaps sparkling blue to catch the sunshine's gold,
And swift before the breeze the vapors flee.

Light cloud-flocks white that troop in joyful haste
Up and across the pure and tender sky;
Light laughing waves that dimple all the waste
And break upon the rocks and hurry by!

Flying of sails, of clouds, a tumult sweet,
Wet, tossing buoys, a warm wild wind that blows
The pennon out and rushes on to greet

Flame-footed youth, have you a mind
To follow Ecstasy—
To woo pale Ecstasy for friend?
Is that the crock of gold you'd find
Under the rainbow's end?

The wooing-wisdom they reap so
Who win from fever free,
'Tis not a crop that fools may scorn—
But do you know, boy, do you know
How late true love is born?

First-love's a star will flare to nought—
Will fall and coasting flee—
Escaping, as it falls, like fire;
But true love's old—a singing thought
More lovely than desire.

Tie up the scarlet holly with the green,
Triumphant laurel and pale mistletoe:
Bedeck the board with linen sweet and clean;
Heap high the crackling fire, shut out the snow:
Let willing hands the generous feast prepare,
Whilst many a brave song bars the door on care!

Ah! but forget not Him, That came this day,
And in a careless world scant welcome found:
The Kings of kings, round Whom no courtiers pay
Their eager homage, no majestic sound
Of royal music heralds His estate;
The God of gods, on Whom no glories wait!

With clamor the wild southwester
Through the wide heaven is roaring,
Ploughing the ocean, and over
The earth its fury outpouring.

Lo, how the vast gray spaces
Wrestle and roll and thunder,
Billow piled upon billow,
Closing and tearing asunder,

As if the deep raged with the anger
Of hosts of the fabulous kraken!
And the firm house shudders and trembles,
Beaten, buffeted, shaken.

Battles the gull with the tempest,
Struggling and wavering and faltering,
Soaring and striving and sinking,

I

Dear Spring returned!

Ah! hark to the Birds a-singing!
See, the Apple-Orchard's a-flower,
And the Honey-Bee's in the bower!
The Young Green laughs i' the Forest Glade
To greet swift Swallow that comes a-winging
His way from afar: and the Blue-Bells, ringing
Their Welcome, cluster beneath the shade
Of the Birchwood's silver, touched to gold
As the young Sun, lusty and waxen bold,
Speeds shaft on shaft from his amorous bow
To awaken Life!

Then Avaunt, Heigh-Ho!

I'm buried now; I've done with life;
I've done with hate, revenge, and strife;
I've done with joy, and hope, and love,
And all the bustling world above.

Long have I dwelt forgotten here
In pining woe and dull despair,
This place of solitude and gloom
Must be my dungeon and my tomb,

No hope, no pleasure can I find;
I am grown weary of my mind;
Often in balmy sleep I try
To gain a rest from misery,

And in one hour of calm repose
To find a respite from my woes;
But dreamless sleep is not for me