I

O the flower of the tree is the flower for me,
That life out of life, high-hanging and free,
By the finger of God and the south wind's fan
Drawn from the broad bough, as Eve from Man!
From the rank red earth it never upgrew:
It was woo'd from the bark in the glistening blue.

II

Hail, blossoms green 'mid the lines unseen,
That charm the bees to your honeyed screen,
As like to the green trees that gave you birth
As true tongue's kindness to true heart's worth!
We see you not; but, we scarce know why,

To the Lover :

The scene now clos'd, and Eustace eas'd, at heart ,
Pardon six lines, in pity of poor Smart :
One play will bear two morals ; and I'll show,
There's something for our sex, e'en in a beau .

I HAVE , a spark , of captain Smart's fine airs;
His front white-border'd , with a fringe of hairs ,
His new-print Hat , like Elziver in small
Tips a huge round O face , in Capital !
Short , and hid, harmless , hangs his sword declin'd,

Jack Ratlin was the ablest sea-man,
None like him could hand, reef, and steer,
No dangerous toil but he'd encounter,
With skill, and in contempt of fear:

In fight a lion — the batt'e ended,
Meek as a bleating lamb he'd prove;
Thus Jack had manners, courage, merit,
Yet did he sigh, and all for love.

II.

The song, the jest, the flowing liquor,
For none of these had Jack regard;
He, while his messinates were carousing,
High sitting on the pendant yard,

Who to my wounds a balm advises,
But little knows what I endure;
The patient's pain to torture rises
When medicine's try'd, and sails to cure.

What can the wisest counsel teach me,
But sad remembrance of my grief?
Alas! your kindness cannot reach me,
It gives but words — I ask relies.

Sir (then Mr.) Walter Besant
Would never touch pheasant,
But Mr. James Rice
Thought it so nice.

At last we let each other go,
And I left you;
Left the demand and the desire of you
And all our windings in and out and bickerings of love;
And I was wandering
Through corridors and rooms of pictures,
Waiting for my mind to sharpen again
Out of its blur.

Now was stern air to breathe,
High, rational,
Clear of you and me.
The medals in their ordered cases,
Round, clean-edged,
Cooled me.
The tossing and tumbling of my body
Drew itself into form,
Into poise,
Looking at their fine symmetry of being.

Nature indulgent, provident, and kind,
In all things that excel some use design'd.
The radiant sun, of ev'ry heav'nly light
The first, (did Mira not dispute that right)
Sends from above ten thousand blessings down,
Nor is he set so high for show alone;
His beams reviving with auspicious fire,
Freely we all enjoy what all admire.
The moon and stars, those faithful guides of night,
Are plac'd to help, not entertain, the sight.
Plants, fruits, and flow'rs, the fertile fields produce,
Nor for vain ornament, but wholesome use;

I Bill.

John, you're here too early; see,
Here's the schedule time.
Four full minutes here to wait,
Or we smash the downward freight! John.

Bill, I know it, and I try
To hold her back; she seems to fly!
Steam will make, and coal will burn,
Water boil, and drivers turn.
All ahead of time, — and I
And you know why!

II Bill.

All ahead of time again;
We shall smash the local train!
Thunder! John, the devil's in it;
See the watch, — six, seven minute! John.

Don't you think I know it, Bill?

Passive, and yet it is not passive.
There is no word to tell that droop of the head,
That turned-away rapt face, those outstretched arms:
Relinquishment, as of a woman yielding her body to love;
To the embrace of him she may nowise refuse;
Whose weakness, whose evil, whose un-love she sees,
But takes not back her faith;
Letting his will upon her be as her own will
To its utmost of asking;
Remembering — knowing as he cannot know —
The ends, the issues of love,
Yet without refusal of life or of death:

When faintly gleams the doubtful day,
Ere yet the dew drops on the thorn
Burrow a lustre from the ray
That tips with gold the dancing corn,
Health bids awake, and homage pay
To him who gave another morn.

And, well with strength his nerves to brace,
Urges the sportsman to the chase.

II.

Do we pursue the timid hare,
As trembling o'er the lawn she bounds?