O GO not yet, my love!

The night is dark and vast; The white moon is hid in her heaven above,

And the waves climb high and fast. O, kiss me, kiss me, once again, Lest thy kiss should be the last! O kiss me ere we part; Grow closer to my heart! My heart is warmer surely than the. bosom of the main.

O joy! O bliss of blisses!

My heart of hearts art thou.
Come bathe me with thy kisses,
My eyelids and my brow.
Hark how the wild rain hisses,

And the loud sea roars below.

limbs,

So gladly doth it stir;

Thine eye in drops of gladness swims. I have bathed thee with the pleasant myrrh;

Thy locks are dripping balm ;
Thou shalt not wander hence to-
night,

I'll stay thee with my kisses.
To-night the roaring brine

Will rend thy golden tresses;
The ocean with the morrow light
Will be both blue and calm:
And the billow will embrace thee with
a kiss as soft as mine.
No Western odors wander

On the black and moaning sea,
And when thou art dead, Leander,
My soul must follow thee!
O go not yet, my love!

Thy voice is sweet and low;
The deep salt wave breaks in above
Those marble steps below.
The turret-stairs are wet

That lead into the sea.
Leander! go not yet,
The pleasant stars have set :
O, go not, go not yet,

Or I will follow thee!

THE MYSTIC.

ANGELS have talked with him, and showed him thrones:

Ye knew him not: he was not one of ye,

Ye scorned him with an undiscerning

scorn:

Ye could not read the marvel in his eye,

The still serene abstraction: he hath

felt

The vanities of after and before; Albeit, his spirit and his secret heart The stern experiences of converse lives,

The linked woes of many a fiery change

free.

Always there stood before him, night and day,

Of wayward vary-colored circumstance The imperishable presences serene, Colossal, without form, or sense, or sound,

Dim shadows but unwaning presences Fourfaced to four corners of the sky; And yet again, three shadows, fronting one,

One forward, one respectant, three but one;

And yet again, again and evermore,
For the two first were not, but only
seemed,
[light,
One shadow in the midst of a great
One reflex from eternity on time,
One mighty countenance of perfect
calm,

Awful with most invariable eyes.
For him the silent congregated hours,
Daughters of time, divinely tall, be-
neath

Severe and youthful brows, with shining eyes

Smiling a godlike smile (the innocent light

Of earliest youth pierced through and through with all

Keen knowledges of low-embowed eld) Upheld, and ever hold aloft the cloud Which droops low-hung on either gate of life,

Both birth and death: he in the centre fixt,

Saw far on each side through the grated gates

Most pale and clear and lovely dis

tances.

He often lying broad awake, and yet Remaining from the body, and apart In intellect and power and will, hath

heard

Time flowing in the middle of the night,

And all things creeping to a day of doom.

How could ye know him? Ye were yet within

The narrower circle: he had wellnigh reached

The last, which with a region of white flame,

Pure without heat, into a larger air Upburning, and an ether of black blue, Investeth and ingirds all other lives.

THE GRASSHOPPER.

I.

VOICE of the summer wind, Joy of the summer plain, Life of the summer hours, Carol clearly, bound along. No Tithon thou as poets feign (Shame fall 'em, they are deaf and blind),

But an insect lithe and strong, Bowing the seeded summer flowers. Prove their falsehood and thy quarrel,

Vaulting on thine airy feet. Clap thy shielded sides and carol, Carol clearly, chirrup sweet. Thou art a mailed warrier in youth and strength complete Armed cap-a-pie Full fair to see; Unknowing fear, Undreading loss, A gallant cavalier, Sans peur et sans reproche, In sunlight and in shadow, The Bayard of the meadow.

II.

I would dwell with thee,
Merry grasshopper,
Thou art so glad and free,
And as light as air;

Thou hast no sorrow or tears,
Thou hast no compt of years,
No withered immortality,
But a short youth sunny and free.
Carol clearly, bound along,

Soon thy joy is over,
A summer of loud song,

And slumbers in the clover.

What hast thou to do with evil In thine hour of love and revel,

In thy heat of summer pride,
Pushing the thick roots aside
Of the singing floweréd grasses,
That brush thee with their silken
tresses?

What hast thou to do with evil,
Shooting, singing, ever springing
In and out the emerald glooms,
Ever leaping, ever singing,

Lighting on the golden blooms?

LOVE, PRIDE, AND FORGETFULNESS.

ERE yet my heart was sweet Love's tomb,

Love labored honey busily.

I was the hive, and Love the bee,
My heart the honeycomb.
One very dark and chilly night
Pride came beneath and held a light.

The cruel vapors went through all,
Sweet Love was withered in his cell:
Pride took Love's sweets, and by a
spell

Did change them into gall;
And Memory, though fed by Pride,
Did wax so thin on gall,

Awhile she scarcely lived at all.
What marvel that she died?

CHORUS.

IN AN UNPUBLISHED DRAMA, WRIT-
TEN VERY EARLY.

THE varied earth, the moving heaven,
The rapid waste of roving sea,
The fountain-pregnant mountains riven
To shapes of wildest anarchy,
By secret fire and midnight storms
That wander round their windy
cones,

The subtle life, the countless forms
Of living things, the wondrous tones

Of man and beast are full of

strange Astonishment change.

THE TEARS OF HEAVEN.

In darkness weeps as all ashamed to weep,

Because the earth hath made her state forlorn

With self-wrought evil of unnumbered years,

And doth the fruit of her dishonor