Sharp hold on Keats, and dragged him slow away, Ay, him, the world's best wood-bird, wise with song- III. Nay, Bird; my grief gainsays the Lord's best right. Till broad Beethoven, deaf no more, and Keats, And halfway pause on some large, courteous word, BALTIMORE, 1878. THE DOVE. IF haply thou, O Desdemona Morn, Shouldst call along the curving sphere, "Remain, Dear Night, sweet Moor; nay, leave me not in scorn!" With soft halloos of heavenly love and pain ; Shouldst thou, O Spring! a-cower in coverts dark, Or (grievous if that may be yea o'er-soon!), If thou, my Heart, long holden from thy Sweet, Shouldst knock Death's door with mellow shocks of tune, Sad inquiry to make-When may we meet? Nay, if ye three, O Morn! O Spring! O Heart! Ye could not mourn with more melodious art CHADD'S FORD, PENNSYLVANIA, 1877. TO —, WITH A ROSE. · I ASKED my heart to say Some word whose worth my love's devoir might pay Upon my Lady's natal day. Then said my heart to me : Learn from the rhyme that now shall come to thee What fits thy Love most lovingly. This gift that learning shows; For, as a rhyme unto its rhyme-twin goes, I send a rose unto a Rose. PHILADELPHIA, 1876. ON HUNTINGDON'S "MIRANDA." THE storm hath blown thee a lover, sweet, To kiss and to sing through and to flare Eyes in a blaze, eyes in a daze, And if I were yon stolid stone, Thy touch would turn me to a heart, BALTIMORE, 1874. Forever, O Miranda. ODE TO THE JOHNS HOPKINS READ ON THE FOURTH COMMEMORATION DAY, FEBRUARY, 1880. How tall among her sisters, and how fair,— How grave beyond her youth, yet debonair As dawn, 'mid wrinkled Matres of old lands Our youngest Alma Mater modest stands ! In four brief cycles round the punctual sun Has she, old Learning's latest daughter, won This grace, this stature, and this fruitful fame. Howbeit she was born Unnoised as any stealing summer morn. From far the sages saw, from far they came And ministered to her, Led by the soaring-genius'd Sylvester That, earlier, loosed the knot great Newton tied, To lay at Wisdom's feet, These liberal masters largely brought— Dear diamonds of their long-compressèd thought, Rich stones from out the labyrinthine cave Of research, pearls from Time's profoundest wave |