Puslapio vaizdai
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To forms of time and apprehensive tune,
So, as I lay, full soon

Interpretation throve: the bee's fanfare,
Through sequent films of discourse vague as air,
Passed to plain words, while, fanning faint perfume,
The bee o'erhung a rich, unrifled bloom :

“O Earth, fair lordly Blossom, soft a-shine
Upon the star-pranked universal vine,
Hast nought for me?

To thee

Come I, a poet, hereward haply blown,
From out another worldflower lately flown.
Wilt ask, What profit e'er a poet brings?
He beareth starry stuff about his wings
To pollen thee and sting thee fertile: nay,
If still thou narrow thy contracted way,
-Worldflower, if thou refuse me-
-Worldflower, if thou abuse me,

And hoist thy stamen's spear-point high
To wound my wing and mar mine eye--
Nathless I'll drive me to thy deepest sweet,
Yea, richlier shall that pain the pollen beat
From me to thee, for oft these pollens be
Fine dust from wars that poets wage for thee.
But, O beloved Earthbloom soft a-shine
Upon the universal Jessamine,

Prithee, abuse me not,

Prithee, refuse me not,

Yield, yield the heartsome honey love to me

Hid in thy nectary!"

And as I sank into a dimmer dream

The pleading bee's song-burthen sole did seem :
"Hast ne'er a honey-drop of love for me
In thy huge nectary ?”



SWIFT, through some trap mine eyes have never found,
Dim-panelled in the painted scene of Sleep,
Thou, giant Harlequin of Dreams, dost leap
Upon my spirit's stage. Then Sight and Sound,

Then Space and Time, then Language, Mete and Bound,
And all familiar Forms that firmly keep

Man's reason in the road, change faces, peep Betwixt the legs and mock the daily round. Yet thou canst more than mock: sometimes my tears At midnight break through bounden lids—a sign Thou hast a heart: and oft thy little leaven Of dream-taught wisdom works me bettered years. In one night witch, saint, trickster, fool divine, I think thou'rt Jester at the Court of Heaven!



OFT seems the Time a market-town
Where many merchant-spirits meet
Who up and down and up and down
Cry out along the street

Their needs, as wares; one thus, one so:
Till all the ways are full of sound:
-But still come rain, and sun, and snow,
And still the world goes round.



"OPINION, let me alone: I am not thine. Prim Creed, with categoric point, forbear

To feature me my Lord by rule and line. Thou canst not measure Mistress Nature's hair,

Not one sweet inch : nay, if thy sight is sharp, Would'st count the strings upon an angel's harp? Forbear, forbear.

"Oh let me love my Lord more fathom deep Than there is line to sound with: let me love

My fellow not as men that mandates keep :
Yea, all that's lovable, below, above,

That let me love by heart, by heart, because
(Free from the penal pressure of the laws)
I find it fair.


"The tears I weep by day and bitter night, Opinion! for thy sole salt vintage fall.


—As morn by morn I rise with fresh delight, Time through my casement cheerily doth call Nature is new,' 'tis birthday every day, Come feast with me, let no man say me nay, Whate'er befall.'

"So fare I forth to feast: I sit beside Some brother bright but, ere good-morrow's passed, Burly Opinion wedging in hath cried 'Thou shalt not sit by us, to break thy fast,

Save to our Rubric thou subscribe and swear-
Religion hath blue eyes and yellow hair :
She's Saxon, all.'

"Then, hard a-hungered for my brother's grace
Till well-nigh fain to swear his folly 's true,
In sad dissent I turn my longing face
To him that sits on the left: Brother,

with you?'

'Nay, not with me, save thou subscribe and swear Religion hath black eyes and raven hair: Nought else is true.'

"Debarred of banquets that my heart could make With every man on every day of life,

I homeward turn, my fires of pain to slake In deep endearments of a worshipped wife.

'I love thee well, dear Love,' quoth she, and yet Would that thy creed with mine completely met, As one, not two.'

“Assassin! Thief! Opinion, 'tis thy work.
By Church, by throne, by hearth, by every good
That's in the Town of Time, I see thee lurk,
And e'er some shadow stays where thou hast stood.

Thou hand'st sweet Socrates his hemlock sour;
Thou sav'st Barabbas in that hideous hour,
And stabb'st the good

"Deliverer Christ; thou rack'st the souls of men ;
Thou tossest girls to lions and boys to flames;
Thou hew'st Crusader down by Saracen ;
Thou buildest closets full of secret shames;

Indifferent cruel, thou dost blow the blaze
Round Ridley or Servetus; all thy days
Smell scorched; I would


-Thou base-born Accident of time and place-
Bigot Pretender unto Judgment's throne-

Bastard, that claimest with a cunning face
Those rights the true, true Son of Man doth own
By Love's authority-thou Rebel cold
At head of civil wars and quarrels old-
Thou Knife on a throne-

"I would thou left'st me free, to live with love, And faith, that through the love of love doth find

My Lord's dear presence in the stars above, The clods below, the flesh without, the mind Within, the bread, the tear, the smile. Opinion, damned Intriguer, gray with guile, Let me alone."

BALTIMORE, 1878-9.

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