( MIT LEIDENSCHAFTLICHEM AUSDRUCK )

The quiet room, the flowers, the perfumed calm,
The slender crystal vase, where all aflame
The scarlet poppies stand erect and tall,
Color that burns as if no frost could tame,
The shaded lamplight glowing over all,
The summer night a dream of warmth and balm.

Outbreaks at once the golden melody,
" With passionate expression! " Ah, from whence
Comes the enchantment of this potent spell,

Endow the fool with sun and moon,
Being his, he holds them mean and low,
But to the wise a little boon
Is great, because the giver's so.

Quiescent, a person sits heart and soul,
Thinking of daytime and Amy Lowell.

A couple came walking along the street;
Neither of them had ever met.

So I went wrong,
Grievously wrong, but folly crushed itself,
And vanity o'ertoppling fell, and time
And healthy discipline and some neglect,
Labour and solitary hours revived
Somewhat, at least, of that original frame.
Oh, well do I remember then the days
When on some grassy slope (what time the sun
Was sinking, and the solemn eve came down
With its blue vapour upon field and wood to
And elm-embosomed spire) once more again
I fed on sweet emotion, and my heart
With love o'erflowed, or hushed itself in fear

The poet's lovely faith creates
The beauty he believes;
The light which on his footsteps waits,
He from himself receives.

His lot may be a weary lot;
His thrall a heavy thrall;
And cares and griefs the crowd know not,
His heart may know them all:

But still he hath a mighty dower,
The loveliness that throws
Over the common thought and hour
The beauty of the rose.

In the vale of restless mind
I sought in mountain and in mead,
Trusting a true love for to find.
Upon an hill then took I heed;
A voice I heard--and near I yede--
In great dolour complaining tho:
"See, dear soul, my sides bleed,
Quia amore langueo.

Upon this mount I found a tree;
Under this tree a man sitting;
From head to foot wounded was he,
His hearte-blood I saw bleeding;
A seemly man to be a king
A gracious man to look unto.
I asked him how he had paining.
He said: "Quia amore langueo.

Through paths of pleasant thought I ran,
False Science sang enchanted airs;
She told of nature and of man,
And of the God-like gifts he bears.
But when I sat down by the way,
And thought out life and thought out sin,
The burning truths that round me lay,
And all the weak proud self within;

Still in my single soul there wrought
The sense of sin, the curse of doom,
Till slowly broke upon my thought
An Eastern olive garden's gloom.
Hung on Thy cross 'twixt earth and heaven
I saw Thee, Son of man Divine;

Art thou weary, art thou languid,
Art thou sore distrest?
" Come to me," saith One, " and coming
Be at rest!"

Hath he marks to lead me to him,
If he be my guide?
" In his feet and hands are wound-prints,
And his side."

Hath he diadem as monarch
That his brow adorns?
" Yea, a crown, in very surety,
But of thorns!"

If I find him, if I follow,
What his guerdon here?
" Many a sorrow, many a labour,
Many a tear."

If I still hold closely to him,
What hath he at last?

My soul was mantled with dark shadows, born
Of lonely Fear, disquieted in vain;
Its phantoms hung around the star of morn,
A cloud-like weeping train;
Through the long day they dimm'd the autumn gold
On all the glistening leaves; and wildly roll'd,
When the last farewell flush of light was glowing
Across the sunset sky;
O'er its rich isles of vaporous glory throwing
One melancholy dye.

And when the solemn Night
Came rushing with her might
Of stormy oracles from caves unknown,
Then with each fitful blast

Queen of the silver bow! — by thy pale beam,
Alone and pensive, I delight to stray,
And watch thy shadow trembling in the stream,
Or mark the floating clouds that cross thy way.
And while I gaze, thy mild and placid light
Sheds a soft calm upon my troubled breast;
And oft I think — fair planet of the night,
That in thy orb, the wretched may have rest:
The sufferers of the earth perhaps may go,
Released by death — to thy benignant sphere;
And the sad children of Despair and Woe
Forget, in thee, their cup of sorrow here.