III. I WOULD not have this perfect love of ours Grow from a single root, a single stem, Bearing no goodly fruit, but only flow ers That idly hide life's iron diadem: tree Whose limbs take root and spread forth constantly; That love for one, from which there doth not spring Wide love for all, is but a worthless thing. But our pure love doth ever elevate 1840. IV. "FOR this true nobleness I seek in vain, In woman and in man I find it not; I almost weary of my earthly lot, My life-springs are dried up with burning pain." Thou find'st it not? I pray thee look again, Look inward through the depths of thine own soul. How is it with thee? Art thou sound and whole? Doth narrow search show thee no earthly stain ? BE NOBLE! and the nobleness that lies In other men, sleeping, but never dead, Will rise in majesty to meet thine V. TO THE SPIRIT OF KEATS. GREAT soul, thou sittest with me in my room, Uplifting me with thy vast, quiet eyes, On whose full orbs, with kindly lustre, lies The twilight warmth of ruddy embergloom : Thy clear, strong tones will oft bring sudden bloom Of hope secure, to him who lonely cries, Wrestling with the young poet's agonies, Neglect and scorn, which seem a certain doom: Yes! the few words which, like great thunder-drops, Thy large heart down to earth shook doubtfully, Thrilled by the inward lightning of its might, Serene and pure, like gushing joy of light, Shall track the eternal chords of Des For God's law, since the starry song began, Hath been, and still forevermore must be, That every deed which shall outlast Time's span Must goad the soul to be erect and free; Slave is no word of deathless lineage sprung, Too many noble souls have thought and died, Too many mighty poets lived and sung, And our good Saxon, from lips purified |