Chapter III

Let me forget her, God!
Her who made honeyed love a bitter rod
To scourge my heart with, barren with despair;
To tear my soul with, sick with vain desire!--
Oh, hear my prayer!
Out of the hell of love's unquenchable fire
I cry to thee, with face against the sod,
Let me forget her, God!

RICHES.

What mines the morning heavens unfold!
What far Alaskas of the skies!
That, veined with elemental gold,
Sierra on Sierra rise.

Heap up the gold of all the world,
The ore that makes men fools and slaves;
What is it to the gold, cloud-curled,
That rivers through the sunset's caves!

Search Earth for riches all who will,
The gold that soils, that turns to dust--
Be mine the wealth no thief can steal,
The gold of God that can not rust.

BEAUTY AND ART.

The gods are dead; but still for me
Lives on in wildwood brook and tree
Each myth, each old divinity.

For me still laughs among her rocks
The Naiad; and the Dryad's locks
Drop perfume on the wild-flower flocks.

The Satyr hoof still prints the loam;
And, whiter than the wind-blown foam,
The Oread haunts her mountain home.

To him, whose mind is fain to dwell
With loveliness no time can quell,
All things are real, imperishable.

To him--whatever facts may say--
Who sees the soul beneath the clay,
Is proof of a diviner day.

The very stars and flowers preach
A gospel old as God, and teach
Philosophy a child may reach;

That can not die, that shall not cease,
That lives through idealities
Of beauty, ev'n as Rome and Greece;

That lift the soul above the clod,
And, working out some period
Of art, are part and proof of God.

THE AGE OF GOLD.

The clouds, that tower in storm, that beat
Arterial thunder in their veins;
The wildflowers lifting, shyly sweet,
Their perfect faces from the plains,--
All high, all lowly things of Earth
For no vague end have had their birth.

Low strips of mist, that mesh the moon
Above the foaming waterfall;
And mountains that God's hand hath hewn,
And forests where the great winds call,--
Within the grasp of such as see
Are parts of a conspiracy;

To seize the soul with beauty; hold
The heart with love, and so fulfill
Within ourselves the Age of Gold,
That never died, and never will,--
So long as one true nature feels
The wonders that the world reveals.

THE LOVE OF LOVES.

I have not seen her face, and yet
She is more sweet than any thing
Of Earth--than rose or violet
That Mayday winds and sunbeams bring.
Of all we know, past or to come,
That beauty holds within its net,
She is the high compendium:
And yet--

I have not touched her robe, and still
She is more dear than lyric words
And music; or than strains that fill
The throbbing throats of forest birds.
Of all we mean by poetry,
That rules the soul and charms the will,
She is the deep epitome:
And still--

She is my world; ah, pity me!
A dream that flies whom I pursue;
Whom all pursue, whoe'er they be,
Who toil for art and dare and do.
The shadow-love for whom they sigh,
The far ideal affinity,
For whom they live and gladly die--
Ah, me!

THREE THINGS.

There are three things of Earth
That help us more
Than those of heavenly birth
That all implore--
Than Love or Faith or Hope,
For which we strive and grope.

The first one is Desire,--
Who takes our hand
And fills our hearts with fire
None may withstand;--
Through whom we're lifted far
Above both moon and star.

The second one is Dream,--
Who leads our feet
By an immortal gleam
To visions sweet;--
Through whom our forms put on
Dim attributes of dawn.

The last of these is Toil,--
Who maketh true,
Within the world's turmoil
The other two;--
Through whom we may behold
Ourselves with kings enrolled.

IMMORTELLES.

I.

As some warm moment of repose
In one rich rose
Sums all the summer's lovely bloom
And pure perfume--
So did her soul epitomize
All hopes that make life wise,
Who lies before us now with lidded eyes,
Faith's amaranth of truth
Crowning her youth.

II.

As some melodious note or strain
May so contain
All of sweet music in one chord,
Or lyric word--
So did her loving heart suggest
All dreams that make life blest,
Who lies before us now with pulseless breast,
Love's asphodel of duty
Crowning her beauty.

A LULLABY.

I.

In her wimple of wind and her slippers of sleep
The twilight comes like a little goose-girl,
Herding her owls with many "tu-whoos,"
Her little brown owls in the woodland deep,
Where dimly she walks in her whispering shoes,
And gown of glimmering pearl.

Sleep, sleep, little one, sleep;
This is the road to Rockaby Town.
Rockaby, lullaby, where dreams are cheap;
Here you can buy any dream for a crown.
Sleep, sleep, little one, sleep;
The cradle you lie in is soft and is deep,
The wagon that takes you to Rockaby Town.
Now you go up, sweet, now you go down,
Rockaby, lullaby, now you go down.

II.

And after the twilight comes midnight, who wears
A mantle of purple so old, so old!
Who stables the lily-white moon, it is said,
In a wonderful chamber with violet stairs,
Up which you can see her come, silent of tread,
On hoofs of pale silver and gold.

Dream, dream, little one, dream;
This is the way to Lullaby Land.
Lullaby, rockaby, where, white as cream,
Sugar-plum bowers drop sweets in your hand.
Dream, dream, little one, dream;
The cradle you lie in is tight at each seam,
The boat that goes sailing to Lullaby Land.
Over the sea, sweet, over the sand,
Lullaby, rockaby, over the sand.

III.

The twilight and midnight are lovers, you know,
And each to the other is true, is true!
And there on the moon through the heavens they ride,
With the little brown owls all huddled arow,
Through meadows of heaven where, every side,
Blossom the stars and the dew.

Rest, rest, little one, rest;
Rockaby Town is in Lullaby Isle.
Rockaby, lullaby, set like a nest
Deep in the heart of a song and a smile.
Rest, rest, little one, rest;
The cradle you lie in is warm as my breast,
The white bird that bears you to Lullaby Isle.
Out of the East, sweet, into the West,
Rockaby, lullaby, into the West.

DUM VIVIMUS.

I.

Now with the marriage of the lip and beaker
Let Joy be born! and in the rosy shine,
The slanting starlight of the lifted liquor,
Let Care, the hag, be drowned! No more repine
At all life's ills! Come, bury them in wine!
Room for great guests! Yea, let us usher in
Philosophies of old Anacreon
And Omar, that, from dawn to glorious dawn,
Shall lesson us in love and song and sin.

II.

Some lives need less than others.--Who can ever
Say truly "Thou art mine," of Happiness?
Death comes to all. And one, to-day, is never
Sure of to-morrow, that may ban or bless;
And what's beyond is but a shadowy guess.
"All, all is vanity," the preacher sighs;
And in this world what has more right than Wrong?
Come! let us hush remembrance with a song,
And learn with folly to be glad and wise.