Through every fibre of my brain, I hear the wind among the trees And over me unrolls on high Towards yonder cloud-land in the West, Its craggy summits white with drifts. Blow, winds! and waft through all the rooms The snow-flakes of the cherry-blooms! O Life and Love! O happy throng DAYLIGHT AND MOONLIGHT. IN broad daylight, and at noon, TWILIGHT. Sailing high, but faint and white, In broad daylight, yesterday, But at length the feverish day Then the moon, in all her pride, Filled and overflowed the night And the Poet's song again Passed like music through my brain; Night interpreted to me All its grace and mystery. TWILIGHT. THE twilight is sad and cloudy, But in the fisherman's cottage 65 Close, close it is pressed to the window, And a woman's waving shadow Now bowing and bending low. What tale do the roaring ocean, And the night-wind, bleak and wild, As they beat at the crazy casement, Tell to that little child? And why do the roaring ocean, And the night-wind, wild and bleak, As they beat at the heart of the mother Drive the color from her cheek? DAYBREAK. A WIND came up out of the sea, 66 And said, “O mists make room for me.' It hailed the ships, and cried, "Sail on, Ye mariners, the night is gone." And hurried landward far away, It said unto the forest, "Shout! 99 THE CITY AND THE SEA. It touched the wood-bird's folded wing, And o'er the farms, "O chanticleer, It whispered to the fields of corn, It shouted through the belfry tower, "Awake, O bell! proclaim the hour." It crossed the churchyard with a sigh, THE CITY AND THE SEA. THE panting City cried to the Sea, "I am faint with heat, Oh breathe on me!" 67 And the Sea said, "Lo, I breathe! but my breath As to Prometheus, bringing ease So to the city, hot with the flame It came from the heaving breast of the deep, 1 In the classic fable Prometheus was chained to a rock for punishment, and the daughters of Ocean came to console him. Life-giving, death-giving, which will it be ; FOUR BY THE CLOCK.1 FOUR by the clock! and yet not day; Only the lamp in the anchored bark A PSALM OF LIFE. WHAT THE HEART OF THE YOUNG MAN SAID TO THE PSALMIST. TELL me not, in mournful numbers, Life is real! Life is earnest! Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, 1 "Nabant, September 8, 1860, four o'clock in the morning." |