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Through every rift it foamed in vain,
About its earthly prison,
Seeking some unknown thing in pain,
And sinking restless back again,

For yet no moon had risen:
Its only voice a vast dumb moan,
Of utterless anguish speaking,
It lay unhopefully alone,

And lived but in an aimless seeking.

So was my soul; but when 't was full
Of unrest to o'erloading,
A voice of something beautiful

Whispered a dim foreboding,
And yet so soft, so sweet, so low,
It had not more of joy than woe;
And, as the sea doth oft lie still,
Making its waters meet,

As if by an unconscious will,

For the moon's silver feet, So lay my soul within mine eyes When thou, its guardian moon, didst rise.

And now, howe'er its waves above
May toss and seem uneaseful,
One strong, eternal law of Love,

With guidance sure and peaceful,
As calm and natural as breath,
Moves its great deeps through life and



THICK-RUSHING, like an ocean vast
Of bisons the far prairie shaking,
The notes crowd heavily and fast
As surfs, one plunging while the last
Draws seaward from its foamy break-

Or in low murmurs they began,
Rising and rising momently,
As o'er a harp Æolian
A fitful breeze, until they ran
Up to a sudden ecstasy.

And then, like minute-drops of rain
Ringing in water silverly,

They lingering dropped and dropped again,

Till it was almost like a pain

To listen when the next would be.



TO M. L.

A LILY thou wast when I saw thee first, A lily-bud not opened quite,

That hourly grew more pure and white,

By morning, and noontide, and evening nursed:

In all of nature thou hadst thy share ;
Thou wast waited on

By the wind and sun;

The rain and the dew for thee took care; It seemed thou never couldst be more fair.

A lily thou wast when I saw thee first, A lily-bud; but O, how strange, How full of wonder was the change, When, ripe with all sweetness, thy full bloom burst!

How did the tears to my glad eyes start, When the woman-flower Reached its blossoming hour, And I saw the warm deeps of thy golden heart!

Glad death may pluck thee, but never before

The gold dust of thy bloom divine Hath dropped from thy heart into mine,

To quicken its faint germs of heavenly


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Thou Hebe, who thy heart's bright wine
So lavishly to all dost pour,
That we who drink forget to pine,

And can but dream of bliss in store.

Thou canst not see a shade in life;
With sunward instinct thou dost rise,
And, leaving clouds below at strife,
Gazest undazzled at the skies,
With all their blazing splendors rife,
A songful lark with eagle's eyes.

Thou wast some foundling whom the

Nursed, laughing, with the milk of

Some influence more gay than ours
Hath ruled thy nature from its birth,
As if thy natal stars were flowers
That shook their seeds round thee on

And thou, to lull thine infant rest,

Wast cradled like an Indian child; All pleasant winds from south and west With lullabies thine ears beguiled, Rocking thee in thine oriole's nest,

Till Nature looked at thee and smiled.

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And feel the wondrous meaning of today;

He had a deeper faith in holy sorrow Than the world's seeming loss could take away.

To know the heart of all things was his duty,

All things did sing to him to make him wise,

And, with a sorrowful and conquering beauty,

The soul of all looked grandly from his eyes.

He gazed on all within him and without him,

He watched the flowing of Time's steady tide,

And shapes of glory floated all about him And whispered to him, and he prophesied.

Than all men he more fearless was and freer,

And all his brethren cried with one

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As he foresaw how all things false should crumble

Before the free, uplifted soul of man : And, when he was made full to overflowing

With all the loveliness of heaven and earth,

Out rushed his song, like molten iron glowing,

To show God sitting by the humblest hearth.

With calmest courage he was ever ready To teach that action was the truth of thought,

And, with strong arm and purpose firm and steady,

An anchor for the drifting world he wrought.

Sodid he make the meanest man partaker Of all his brother-godsunto him gave; All souls did reverence him and name him Maker,

And when he died heaped temples on his grave.

And still his deathless words of light are swimming

Serene throughout the great deep infinite

Of human soul, unwaning and undim


To cheer and guide the mariner at night.

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And let man's soul be yet again beholden To thee for wings to soar to her desire. O, prophesy no more to-morrow's splendor,

Be no more shamefaced to speak out for Truth,

Lay on her altar all the gushings tender, The hope, the fire, the loving faith of youth!

O, prophesy no more the Maker's coming,

Say not his onward footsteps thou canst hear

In the dim void, like to the awful humming

Of the great wings of some new-lighted sphere!

O, prophesy no more, but be the Poet! Thislonging was but granted unto thee That, when all beauty thou couldst feel and know it,

That beauty in its highest thou couldst

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Who sees a brother in the evildoer,

And finds in Love the heart's-blood of his song;.

This, this is he for whom the world is waiting

Tosing the beatings ofits mighty heart, Too long hath it been patient with the grating

Of scrannel-pipes, and heard it misnained Art.

To him the smiling soul of man shall listen

Laying awhile its crown of thorns

And once again in every eye shall glisten
The glory of a nature satisfied.
His verse shall have a great command-
ing motion,

Heaving and swelling with a melody Learntofthesky, the river, and the ocean And all the pure, majestic things that be.

Awake, then, thou! we pine for thy great presence

To make us feel the soul once more sublime,

We are of far too infinite an essence Torestcontented with the lies of Tima

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